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Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake...
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Still I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander Far from the commoner way; Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder, Dreaming to-morrow to-day. Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo, Measures descanted...
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This is a quiet place at the end of night
long dim shadows appear before the dawn
row upon row at the coming of the light,
this is our place of rest and we do not hear
not a voice or a gentle breeze or a raindrop
on the soil above.
...
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Stay close, my heart, to the one who knows your ways;
Come into the shade of the tree that allays has fresh flowers.
Don't stroll idly through the bazaar of the perfume-markers:
Stay in the shop of the sugar-seller.
If you don't...
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Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest He who has found our hid security, Assured in the dark tides of the world that rest, And heard our word, 'Who is so safe as we?' We have found safety with all things undying, The winds, and morning,...
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You don’t like my keening sound
haunting, melancholic
whispers of a distant land
with peaceful breezes
whispering fronds
mud after rain
sleekly oiled hair
tightly coiled fitting as snugly
as the bodice on a slight
well...
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(The same thought resumed)
So, Time,
Royal, sublime;
Heretofore held to be
Master and enemy,
Thief of my Love's adornings,
Despoiling her to scornings: -
The sound philosopher
Now sets him to aver
You are nought
But a...
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There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave — under the deep, deep, sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;...
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i
last retreat
of lovers,
erstwhile poets,
charlatans,
the perplexed
and the truly wise
of this world
who knowing speech
are speechless
is the end of wisdom
silence?
...
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at dusk
a stork speckled sky
storks are flying
to the northlands
as their generations
have taught them
they are flying
to the northlands
where hope
and old nests await
light fades
as silk
to evening
...
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My heart is happy
for today's sky is filled
storks northward flying
tom berman
Go back to author's page ~
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Sitting, my thoughts errant upon the whim
of the harps silent chord, sunlight upon spiders silk,
I ponder of how great I could have been
with relative ease if I cared for the will
to make the world great to live in
..
We are all...
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I can't cry.
We parted like pro and con
with the argument hanging in the air,
and no hope of resolving anything,
because, unlike the proverbial mule,
neither of us had been hit by a two-by-four!
I can't cry.
This is too...
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at 10:00 a.m. in a Saturday Morning Poetry Workshop
I am not inspired to write a sonnet
without a feeling, thought, or prayer in mind.
Though words buzz 'round within my striving bonnet,
I feel I'm walking down a path, quite...
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Slowly, silently, now the moon Walks the night in her silver shoon; This way, and that, she peers, and sees Silver fruit upon silver trees; One by one the casements catch Her beams beneath the silvery thatch; Couched in his kennel, like a log, With...
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Men all, and birds, and creeping beasts, When the dark of night is deep, From the moving wonder of their lives Commit themselves to sleep. Without a thought, or fear, they shut The narrow gates of sense; Heedless and quiet, in slumber turn Their...
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There are shoes on the grey carpet.
Have we forgotten something in this trip around the solar system?
The ghost of an old man from Iceland was haunting our spaceship.
There’s a star shining far before us. It’s bright and has...
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It seemed that out of the battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which titanic wars had groined. Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned, Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred. Then, as I...
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Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content, Thou knowest of no strange continent; Thou hast not felt thy bosom keep A gentle motion with the deep; Thou hast not sailed in Indian seas, Where scent comes forth in every breeze. Thou hast not seen the...
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XVIII Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold...
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