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Best Famous John Montague Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous John Montague poems. This is a select list of the best famous John Montague poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous John Montague poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of John Montague poems.

Search for the best famous John Montague poems, articles about John Montague poems, poetry blogs, or anything else John Montague poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

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Poems are below...


Written by John Montague | Create an image from this poem

Blessing

 A feel of warmth in this place.
In winter air, a scent of harvest.
No form of prayer is needed, When by sudden grace attended.
Naturally, we fall from grace.
Mere humans, we forget what light Led us, lonely, to this place.
Written by John Montague | Create an image from this poem

The Golden Hook

 Two fish float:

one slowly downstream
into the warm
currents of the known

the other tugging
against the stream,
disconsolate twin,

the golden 
marriage hook
tearing its throat.
Written by John Montague | Create an image from this poem

There are Days

 There are days when 
one should be able 
to pluck off one's head 
like a dented or worn 
helmet, straight from 
the nape and collarbone 
(those crackling branches!)

and place it firmly down 
in the bed of a flowing stream.
Clear, clean, chill currents coursing and spuming through the sour and stale compartments of the brain, dimmed eardrums, bleared eyesockets, filmed tongue.
And then set it back again on the base of the shoulders: well tamped down, of course, the laved skin and mouth, the marble of the eyes rinsed and ready for love; for prophecy?
Written by John Montague | Create an image from this poem

Uprooting

 My love, while we talked
They removed the roof.
Then They started on the walls, Panes of glass uprooting From timber, like teeth.
But you spoke calmly on, Your example of courtesy Compelling me to reply.
When we reached the last Syllable, nearly accepting Our positions, I saw that The floorboards were gone: It was clay we stood upon.
Written by John Montague | Create an image from this poem

No Music

 I'll tell you a sore truth, little understood
It's harder to leave, than to be left:
To stay, to leave, both sting wrong.
You will always have me to blame, Can dream we might have sailed on; From absence's rib, a warm fiction.
To tear up old love by the roots, To trample on past affections: There is no music for so harsh a song.