Best Famous Earthworm Poems

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

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Poems are below...



Written by A R Ammons | Create an image from this poem

Shit List; Or Omnium-gatherum Of Diversity Into Unity

 You'll rejoice at how many kinds of shit there are:
gosling shit (which J.
Williams said something was as green as), fish shit (the generality), trout shit, rainbow trout shit (for the nice), mullet shit, sand dab shit, casual sloth shit, elephant shit (awesome as process or payload), wildebeest shit, horse shit (a favorite), caterpillar shit (so many dark kinds, neatly pelleted as mint seed), baby rhinoceros shit, splashy jaybird shit, mockingbird shit (dive-bombed with the aim of song), robin shit that oozes white down lawnchairs or down roots under roosts, chicken shit and chicken mite shit, pelican shit, gannet shit (wholesome guano), fly shit (periodic), cockatoo shit, dog shit (past catalog or assimilation), cricket shit, elk (high plains) shit, and tiny scribbled little shrew shit, whale shit (what a sight, deep assumption), mandril shit (blazing blast off), weasel shit (wiles' waste), gazelle shit, magpie shit (total protein), tiger shit (too acid to contemplate), moral eel and manta ray shit, eerie shark shit, earthworm shit (a soilure), crab shit, wolf shit upon the germicidal ice, snake shit, giraffe shit that accelerates, secretary bird shit, turtle shit suspension invites, remora shit slightly in advance of the shark shit, hornet shit (difficult to assess), camel shit that slaps the ghastly dry siliceous, frog shit, beetle shit, bat shit (the marmoreal), contemptible cat shit, penguin shit, hermit crab shit, prairie hen shit, cougar shit, eagle shit (high totem stuff), buffalo shit (hardly less lofty), otter shit, beaver shit (from the animal of alluvial dreams)—a vast ordure is a broken down cloaca—macaw shit, alligator shit (that floats the Nile along), louse shit, macaque, koala, and coati shit, antelope shit, chuck-will's-widow shit, alpaca shit (very high stuff), gooney bird shit, chigger shit, bull shit (the classic), caribou shit, rasbora, python, and razorbill shit, scorpion shit, man shit, laswing fly larva shit, chipmunk shit, other-worldly wallaby shit, gopher shit (or broke), platypus shit, aardvark shit, spider shit, kangaroo and peccary shit, guanaco shit, dolphin shit, aphid shit, baboon shit (that leopards induce), albatross shit, red-headed woodpecker (nine inches long) shit, tern shit, hedgehog shit, panda shit, seahorse shit, and the shit of the wasteful gallinule.
Written by Marge Piercy | Create an image from this poem

The Seven Of Pentacles

 Under a sky the color of pea soup
she is looking at her work growing away there
actively, thickly like grapevines or pole beans
as things grow in the real world, slowly enough.
If you tend them properly, if you mulch, if you water, if you provide birds that eat insects a home and winter food, if the sun shines and you pick off caterpillars, if the praying mantis comes and the ladybugs and the bees, then the plants flourish, but at their own internal clock.
Connections are made slowly, sometimes they grow underground.
You cannot tell always by looking what is happening.
More than half the tree is spread out in the soil under your feet.
Penetrate quietly as the earthworm that blows no trumpet.
Fight persistently as the creeper that brings down the tree.
Spread like the squash plant that overruns the garden.
Gnaw in the dark and use the sun to make sugar.
Weave real connections, create real nodes, build real houses.
Live a life you can endure: Make love that is loving.
Keep tangling and interweaving and taking more in, a thicket and bramble wilderness to the outside but to us interconnected with rabbit runs and burrows and lairs.
Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen: reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in.
This is how we are going to live for a long time: not always, for every gardener knows that after the digging, after the planting, after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest comes.
Written by Anne Sexton | Create an image from this poem

Earthworm

 Slim inquirer, while the old fathers sleep
you are reworking their soil, you have
a grocery store there down under the earth
and it is well stocked with broken wine bottles,
old cigars, old door knobs and earth,
that great brown flour that you kiss each day.
There are dark stars in the cool evening and you fondle them like killer birds' beaks.
But what I want to know is why when small boys dig you up for curiosity and cut you in half why each half lives and crawls away as if whole.
Have you no beginning and end? Which heart is the real one? Which eye the seer? Why is it in the infinite plan that you would be severed and rise from the dead like a gargoyle with two heads?
Written by Thomas Moore | Create an image from this poem

The Parallel

 Yes, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling, 
In shame and in sorrow, thy wither'd-up heart -- 
If drinking deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling" 
Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.
Like thee doth our nation lie conquer'd and broken, And fall'n from her head is the once royal crown; In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, And "while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down.
" Like thine doth her exile, 'mid dreams of returning, Die far from the home it were life to behold; Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning Remember the bright things that bless'd them of old.
Ah, well may we call her, like thee, "the Forsaken," Her boldest are vanquish'd, her proudest are slaves; And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken, Have tones 'mid their mirth like the wind over graves! Yet hadst thou thy vengeance -- yet came there the morrow, That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, When the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and sorrow, Was shiver'd at once, like a reed, in thy sight.
When that cup, which for others the proud Golden City Had brimm'd full of bitterness, drench'd her own lips; And the world she had trampled on heard, without pity, The howl in her halls, and the cry from her ships.
When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over, Her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, And a ruin at last for the earthworm to cover, The Lady of Kingdoms lay low in the dust.
Written by James Wright | Create an image from this poem

On The Skeleton Of A Hound

 Nightfall, that saw the morning-glories float
Tendril and string against the crumbling wall,
Nurses him now, his skeleton for grief,
His locks for comfort curled among the leaf.
Shuttles of moonlight weave his shadow tall, Milkweed and dew flow upward to his throat.
Now catbird feathers plume the apple mound, And starlings drowse to winter up the ground.
thickened away from speech by fear, I move Around the body.
Over his forepaws, steep Declivities darken down the moonlight now, And the long throat that bayed a year ago Declines from summer.
Flies would love to leap Between his eyes and hum away the space Between the ears, the hollow where a hare Could hide; another jealous dog would tumble The bones apart, angry, the shining crumble Of a great body gleaming in the air; Quivering pigeons foul his broken face.
I can imagine men who search the earth For handy resurrections, overturn The body of a beetle in its grave; Whispering men digging for gods might delve A pocket for these bones, then slowly burn Twigs in the leaves, pray for another birth.
But I will turn my face away from this Ruin of summer, collapse of fur and bone.
For once a white hare huddled up the grass, The sparrows flocked away to see the race.
I stood on darkness, clinging to a stone, I saw the two leaping alive on ice, On earth, on leaf, humus and withered vine: The rabbit splendid in a shroud of shade, The dog carved on the sunlight, on the air, Fierce and magnificent his rippled hair, The cockleburs shaking around his head.
Then, suddenly, the hare leaped beyond pain Out of the open meadow, and the hound Followed the voiceless dancer to the moon, To dark, to death, to other meadows where Singing young women dance around a fire, Where love reveres the living.
I alone Scatter this hulk about the dampened ground; And while the moon rises beyond me, throw The ribs and spine out of their perfect shape.
For a last charm to the dead, I lift the skull And toss it over the maples like a ball.
Strewn to the woods, now may that spirit sleep That flamed over the ground a year ago.
I know the mole will heave a shinbone over, The earthworm snuggle for a nap on paws, The honest bees build honey in the head; The earth knows how to handle the great dead Who lived the body out, and broke its laws, Knocked down a fence, tore up a field of clover.