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Ars Poetica BY ARCHIBALD MACLEISH A poem should be palpable and mute As a globed fruit, Dumb As old medallions to the thumb, Silent as the sleeve-worn stone Of casement ledges where the moss has grown— A poem should be wordless As the flight of birds. * A poem should be motionless in time As the moon climbs, Leaving, as the moon releases Twig by twig the night-entangled trees, Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves, Memory by memory the mind— A poem should be motionless in time As the moon climbs. * A poem should be equal to: Not true. For all the history of grief An empty doorway and a maple leaf. For love The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea— A poem should not mean But be.

One’s-Self I sing, a simple separate person, Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse. Of physiology from top to toe I sing, Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete is worthier far, The Female equally with the Male I sing. Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for freest action form’d under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing. -------------------------------------- Listen to GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org and on Stitcher, Google Podcasts, Apple Podcasts and iTunes.

There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away Nor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry – This Traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of Toll – How frugal is the Chariot That bears the Human Soul –

"When I Was One-and-Twenty" BY A. E. HOUSMAN When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, “Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free.” But I was one-and-twenty, No use to talk to me. When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, “The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; ’Tis paid with sighs a plenty And sold for endless rue.” And I am two-and-twenty, And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.

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Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days. But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.

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Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.

Ah , yes! I wrote the " Purple Cow" — I'm Sorry, now, I Wrote it! But I can Tell you, Anyhow, I'll Kill you if you Quote it! -------------------------------------- Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ----------------------------------------"I saw a man pursuing the horizon" BY STEPHEN CRANE I saw a man pursuing the horizon; Round and round they sped. I was disturbed at this; I accosted the man. “It is futile,” I said, “You can never —” “You lie,” he cried, And ran on.

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. -------------------------------------- "Evolution" by John Banister Tabb Out of the dusk a shadow, Then, a spark; Out of the cloud a silence, Then, a lark; Out of the heart a rapture, Then, a pain; Out of the dead, cold ashes, Life again.

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. -------------------------------------- "A Learned Man Came to Me Once" by Stephen Crane A learned man came to me once. He said, "I know the way, -- come." And I was overjoyed at this. Together we hastened. Soon, too soon, were we Where my eyes were useless, And I knew not the ways of my feet. I clung to the hand of my friend; But at last he cried, "I am lost."

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter.

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. -------------------------------------- I know I’m not that pretty, But I have a smile that glows. I may not be that pretty, But I know more than you’ll ever know. I may have chubby face: But I can warm you with my grace And I may have height as coal, But I have heart that always grows. So, maybe will come the day when I have perfect cheek bones. But, until that day comes, I’ll be pretty in my soul.

“The Elephant” by Hilaire Billoc Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and connect with @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. -------------------------------------- When people call this beast to mind, They marvel more and more At such a little tail behind, So large a trunk before.

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and connect with @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. -------------------------------------- The world has held great Heroes, As history-books have showed; But never a name to go down to fame Compared with that of Toad The clever men at Oxford Know all that there is to be knowed. But they none of them knew one half as much As intelligent Mr Toad! The animals sat in the Ark and cried, Their tears in torrents flowed. Who was it said, “There’s land ahead?” Encouraging Mr Toad! The Army all saluted As they marched along the road. Was it the King? Or Kitchener? No. It was Mr Toad! The Queen and her Ladies-in-waiting Sat at the window and sewed. She cried, “Look! who’s that handsome man?” They answered, “Mr Toad.”

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and connect with @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. -------------------------------------- "The Harlem Dancer: by Claude McKay Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway; Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes Blown by black players upon a picnic day. She sang and danced on gracefully and calm, The light gauze hanging loose about her form; To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm Grown lovelier for passing through a storm. Upon her swarthy neck black shiny curls Luxuriant fell; and tossing coins in praise, The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, Devoured her shape with eager, passionate gaze; But looking at her falsely-smiling face, I knew her self was not in that strange place.

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. -------------------------------------- "I was born upon thy bank, river" by Henry David Thoreau I was born upon thy bank, river, My blood flows in thy stream, And thou meanderest forever At the bottom of my dream.

Listen to more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. -------------------------------------- "Do You Know What It's Like to Be Free?" by Teyuna T. Darris Do you know what it’s like To be free? Like when you whirl your arms around In the gold-yellow sun And fling your legs in the air? Not caring what anyone say Just a smile in your heart And on your chin. I know what it’s like See, I whirl my heart On a golden string: Three-chorded and whirlin’ to the sun. Three-quarters turning. I rode away in my heart.