@3Lullaby@1 In the house of my fathers Are polished floors and discreet candles. ... Whisper more softly, And do not smile, Lest you be suffocated Beneath velvet grey Ashes drifting down! @3He Says@1 My father is a fool. I wish I could chop him down Like the gnarled beech That blossomed so beautifully In our hearth-fire last winter; But I merely stand by and say, "Yes, sir! No, sir! Thanks!" @3My Soul@1 My soul is a boomerang. Many times have I sold it, And cast it from me. But ever and ever it returneth. Damn it! @3Me and Myself@1 Self is the root of sickness, sin, and sorrow. Self is illusion. ... So I earnestly endeavor to convince myself; But my self won't stop to listen; It puts its fingers to its nose at me, And goes on its way, whistling. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. MERRITT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SEA LOVER by SARA TEASDALE OF MY DEAR SON [GERVASE BEAUMONT] by JOHN BEAUMONT MONADNOC by RALPH WALDO EMERSON A ROUGH RHYME ON A ROUGH MATTER; THE ENGLISH GAME LAWS by CHARLES KINGSLEY IF WE MUST DIE by CLAUDE MCKAY |