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Best Famous Bolting Poems

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

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A Display Of Mackeral

 They lie in parallel rows,
on ice, head to tail, 
each a foot of luminosity 
barred with black bands,
which divide the scales'
radiant sections 

like seams of lead
in a Tiffany window.
Iridescent, watery 

prismatics: think abalone,
the wildly rainbowed
mirror of a soap-bubble sphere, 

think sun on gasoline.
Splendor, and splendor, 
and not a one in any way 

distinguished from the other
--nothing about them
of individuality. Instead 

they're all exact expressions
of the one soul,
each a perfect fulfillment 

of heaven's template,
mackerel essence. As if, 
after a lifetime arriving 

at this enameling, the jeweler's
made uncountable examples
each as intricate 

in its oily fabulation
as the one before;
a cosmos of champleve. 

Suppose we could iridesce,
like these, and lose ourselves
entirely in the universe 

of shimmer--would you want
to be yourself only,
unduplicatable, doomed 

to be lost? They'd prefer,
plainly, to be flashing participants,
multitudinous. Even on ice 

they seem to be bolting
forward, heedless of stasis.
They don't care they're dead 

and nearly frozen,
just as, presumably,
they didn't care that they were living: 

all, all for all,
the rainbowed school
and its acres of brilliant classrooms, 

in which no verb is singular,
or every one is. How happy they seem,
even on ice, to be together, selfless, 

which is the price of gleaming.

Written by Marge Piercy |

Traveling Dream

 I am packing to go to the airport 
but somehow I am never packed. 
I keep remembering more things 
I keep forgetting. 

Secretly the clock is bolting 
forward ten minutes at a click 
instead of one. Each time 
I look away, it jumps. 

Now I remember I have to find 
the cats. I have four cats 
even when I am asleep. 
One is on the bed and I slip 

her into the suitcase. 
One is under the sofa. I 
drag him out. But the tabby 
in the suitcase has vanished. 

Now my tickets have run away. 
Maybe the cat has my tickets. 
I can only find one cat. 
My purse has gone into hiding. 

Now it is time to get packed. 
I take the suitcase down. 
There is a cat in it but no clothes. 
My tickets are floating in the bath 

tub full of water. I dry them. 
One cat is in my purse 
but my wallet has dissolved. 
The tickets are still dripping. 

I look at the clock as it leaps 
forward and see I have missed 
my plane. My bed is gone now. 
There is one cat the size of a sofa.

Written by Dylan Thomas |

Love In The Asylum

 A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
 A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
 Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
 At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

 She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
 Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
 Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
 I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.