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Paper pusher
Lord I am all morning thin paper
and all afternoon work
which is no book to be
Poems on the topic: monotony
Poems on the topic “monotony” on Poets.by.
Monotony
Unrealized, the dim hours come and go,
A hooded, listless file of shadows pale;
Men's deeds like visions pass, and scarce avail
To stir dull thought or give it ebb or flow;
The hopes that pushed us Heavenward once, aglow
With passionate desire, now flag and fail;
The lights have vanished, and the wine grown stale,
The blade is rusted and unstrung the bow.
Oh, better far to climb the toilsome height
Than linger in the valley's flowered way,
Far better in a losing cause to fight
Than feel one's sinews wasting day by day;
Give me the hemlock draught and dreamless night,
Before this daily death of apathy !
Plain Sewing
My stitches, like the even tide of feet
Beating against the pavement of the street
Below my window-sill, forever run
Before the footsteps of the sun.
Down streets of seams, and formal avenues
Of basted hems, each crowding stitch pursues.
Seeking no destination on the way —
Only the end of day.
Flat Suburbs, S.W., in the Morning
The new red houses spring like plants
In level rows
Of reddish herbage that bristles and slants
Its square shadows.
The pink young houses show one side bright
Flatly assuming the sun,
And one side shadow, half in sight,
Half-hiding the pavement-run;
Where hastening creatures pass intent
On their level way,
Threading like ants that can never relent
And have nothing to say.
Bare stems of street-lamps stiffly stand
At random, desolate twigs,
To testify to a blight on the land
That has stripped their sprigs.
Trapped
Well and
If day on day
Follows, and weary year
On year . . . and ever days and years . . .
Well?
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