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Red at night
wine tongues
bringing night home
in our blood
Poemas sobre el tema: tongue
Poemas sobre el tema «tongue» en Poets.by.
At the Hoop Tavern
I went to dinner with
the king’s fishmonger,
who eats no sort of fish
and sent for a tongue.
The ugly bride was busy
at cards. The lute came
to live with me as a servant.
Morsel in the Mouth
You can feel it with your tongue-
The more you feel it
The deeper it delves
Into the crevasses of your teeth
Entrenched, stuck
It becomes part
Of your molars or wisdom.
The surreptitious search
for a toothpick -
even a matchstick to ease
the discomfort -
to poke
to probe
to dig
to dislodge
to divest, finally
Sunspek (A haiku)
Memories of childhood
The sweetness of summer comes
Bursting on my tongue
Silence 5
After years of waiting we finally meet, and I couldn't utter a single word.
I overdosed silence for so long that when you asked me, my tongue was numb!
Mother tongue
Silence is my mother tongue.
I fluently speak it, but I never understood a word of it.
Miss Kate-Marie
And it was Sunday everywhere,
And Father pinned a rose on me
And said he guessed he'd better take
Me down to see Miss Kate-Marie.
And when I went it all turned out
To be a Sunday school, and there
Miss Kate-Marie was very good
And let me stand beside her chair.
Her hat was made of yellow lace;
Her dress was very soft and thin,
And when she talked her little tongue
Was always wriggling out and in.
I liked to smell my pretty rose;
I liked to feel her silky dress.
She held a very little book
And asked the things for us to guess.
The Church-Bell
As I was lying in my bed
I heard the church-bell ring;
Before one solemn word was said
A bird began to sing.
I heard a dog begin to bark
And a bold crowing cock;
The bell, between the cold and dark,
Tolled. It was five o'clock.
The church-bell tolled, and the bird sang,
A clear true voice he had;
The cock crew, and the church-bell rang,
I knew it had gone mad.
A hand reached down from the dark skies,
It took the bell-rope thong,
The bell cried "Look! Lift up your eyes!"
The clapper shook to song.
Dorcas Gustine
I was not beloved of the villagers,
But all because I spoke my mind,
And met those who transgressed against me
With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing
Nor secret griefs nor grudges.
That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,
Who hid the wolf under his cloak,
Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.
It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth
And fight him openly, even in the street,
Amid dust and howls of pain.
The tongue may be an unruly member—
But silence poisons the soul.
Berate me who will—I am content.