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Best Famous Lurches Poems

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

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Written by Barry Tebb | Create an image from this poem

Hughes' Voice In My Head

 As soon as we crossed into Yorkshire

Hughes’ voice assailed me, unmistakable

Gravel and honey, a raw celebration of rain

Like a tattered lacework window;

Black glisten on roof slates,

Tarmac turned to shining ice,

Blusters of naked wind whipping

The wavelets of shifting water

To imaginary floating islets

On the turbulent river

Glumly he asked, "Where are the mills?"

Knowing their goneness in his lonely heart.

"Where are the mines with their turning spokes,

Lurking slag heaps, bolts of coal split with

Shimmering fools’ gold tumbling into waiting wagons?

Mostly what I came for was a last glimpse

Of the rock hanging over my cot, that towering

Sheerness fifty fathoms high screed with ferns

And failing tree roots, crumbling footholds

And dour smile. A monument needs to be known

For what it is, not a tourist slot or geological stratum

But the dark mentor loosing wolf’s bane

At my sleeping head."

When the coach lurches over the county boundary,

If not Hughes’ voice then Heaney’s or Hill’s

Ringing like miners’ boots flinging sparks

From the flagstones, piercing the lens of winter,

Jutting like tongues of crooked rock

Lapping a mossed slab, an altar outgrown,

Dumped when the trumpeting hosannas

Had finally riven the air of the valley.

And I, myself, what did I make of it?

The voices coming into my head

Welcoming kin, alive or dead, my eyes

Jerking to the roadside magpie,

Its white tail-bar doing a hop, skip and jump.


Written by Ted Hughes | Create an image from this poem

Tractor

 The tractor stands frozen - an agony
To think of. All night
Snow packed its open entrails. Now a head-pincering gale,
A spill of molten ice, smoking snow,
Pours into its steel.
At white heat of numbness it stands
In the aimed hosing of ground-level fieriness. 

It defied flesh and won't start.
Hands are like wounds already
Inside armour gloves, and feet are unbelievable
As if the toe-nails were all just torn off.
I stare at it in hatred. Beyond it
The copse hisses - capitulates miserably
In the fleeing, failing light. Starlings,
A dirtier sleetier snow, blow smokily, unendingly, over
Towards plantations Eastward.
All the time the tractor is sinking
Through the degrees, deepening
Into its hell of ice. 

The starting lever
Cracks its action, like a snapping knuckle.
The battery is alive - but like a lamb
Trying to nudge its solid-frozen mother -
While the seat claims my buttock-bones, bites
With the space-cold of earth, which it has joined
In one solid lump. 

I squirt commercial sure-fire
Down the black throat - it just coughs.
It ridicules me - a trap of iron stupidity
I've stepped into. I drive the battery
As if I were hammering and hammering
The frozen arrangement to pieces with a hammer
And it jabbers laughing pain-crying mockingly
Into happy life. 

And stands
Shuddering itself full of heat, seeming to enlarge slowly
Like a demon demonstrating
A more-than-usually-complete materialization -
Suddenly it jerks from its solidarity
With the concrete, and lurches towards a stanchion
Bursting with superhuman well-being and abandon
Shouting Where Where? 

Worse iron is waiting. Power-lift kneels
Levers awake imprisoned deadweight,
Shackle-pins bedded in cast-iron cow-****.
The blind and vibrating condemned obedience
Of iron to the cruelty of iron,
Wheels screeched out of their night-locks - 

Fingers
Among the tormented
Tonnage and burning of iron 

Eyes
Weeping in the wind of chloroform 

And the tractor, streaming with sweat,
Raging and trembling and rejoicing.
Written by Judith Wright | Create an image from this poem

South of my Days

 South of my days' circle, part of my blood's country, 
rises that tableland, high delicate outline 
of bony slopes wincing under the winter, 
low trees, blue-leaved and olive, outcropping granite- 
clean, lean, hungry country. The creek's leaf-silenced, 
willow choked, the slope a tangle of medlar and crabapple 
branching over and under, blotched with a green lichen; 
and the old cottage lurches in for shelter. 

O cold the black-frost night. the walls draw in to the warmth 
and the old roof cracks its joints; the slung kettle 
hisses a leak on the fire. Hardly to be believed that summer 
will turn up again some day in a wave of rambler-roses, 
thrust it's hot face in here to tell another yarn- 
a story old Dan can spin into a blanket against the winter. 
seventy years of stories he clutches round his bones, 
seventy years are hived in him like old honey. 

During that year, Charleville to the Hunter, 
nineteen-one it was, and the drought beginning; 
sixty head left at the McIntyre, the mud round them 
hardened like iron; and the yellow boy died 
in the sulky ahead with the gear, but the horse went on, 
stopped at Sandy Camp and waited in the evening. 
It was the flies we seen first, swarming like bees. 
Came to the Hunter, three hundred head of a thousand- 
cruel to keep them alive - and the river was dust. 

Or mustering up in the Bogongs in the autumn 
when the blizzards came early. Brought them down; 
down, what aren't there yet. Or driving for Cobb's on the run 
up from Tamworth-Thunderbolt at the top of Hungry Hill, 
and I give him a wink. I wouoldn't wait long, Fred, 
not if I was you. The troopers are just behind, 
coming for that job at the Hillgrove. He went like a luny, 
him on his big black horse. 

Oh, they slide and they vanish 
as he shuffles the years like a pack of conjuror's cards. 
True or not, it's all the same; and the frost on the roof 
cracks like a whip, and the back-log break into ash. 
Wake, old man. this is winter, and the yarns are over. 
No-one is listening 
South of my days' circle. 
I know it dark against the stars, the high lean country 
full of old stories that still go walking in my sleep.
Written by Barry Tebb | Create an image from this poem

Mornings Like This

 Mornings like this I awaken and wonder

How I have moved so far, how I have moved so little

And yet in essence stayed the same

Always passionate for the unattainable

For Joan Baez to make me her analyst,

To tour Ireland with Eddie and Finbar Furey

To be made a Chevalier des Palmes for translating Milosz.

I remember one road, many roads I did not take

And my heart lurches and my stomach turns

At the vertigo of mystery

At the simplicity of childhood

And its melancholy

At the silence of the moors

Beckoning, unreachable, tormenting me

As I lie helpless at the border of infirmity

With my soul burning and brimming over

With adolescent passion.

Only analysis with its symmetries and asymmetries

Exactness and paradox, scientific as Heisenberg's

Principle of Uncertainty, yet various as the shades of Monet,

Eases me.

I think of those I have known and know no longer,

Who have died needlessly, disappeared irrevocably

Or changed beyond recognition.

I think of the bridge, river and streets

Of my Montmartre, gone under and made over

Into the grey utilities of trade, the empty road,

Sad as telegraph poles, my Sacr? Coeur silent and boarded up.

My Seine empty of the barges of D?rain

My Sorbonne absorbed, its students gone

Mornings like this, I awaken and wonder.
Written by Amy Lowell | Create an image from this poem

Late September

 Tang of fruitage in the air;
Red boughs bursting everywhere;
Shimmering of seeded grass;
Hooded gentians all a'mass.
Warmth of earth, and cloudless wind
Tearing off the husky rind,
Blowing feathered seeds to fall
By the sun-baked, sheltering wall.
Beech trees in a golden haze;
Hardy sumachs all ablaze,
Glowing through the silver birches.
How that pine tree shouts and lurches!
From the sunny door-jamb high,
Swings the shell of a butterfly.
Scrape of insect violins
Through the stubble shrilly dins.
Every blade's a minaret
Where a small muezzin's set,
Loudly calling us to pray
At the miracle of day.
Then the purple-lidded night
Westering comes, her footsteps light
Guided by the radiant boon
Of a sickle-shaped new moon.


Written by Rainer Maria Rilke | Create an image from this poem

from The Tenth Elegy

 Ah, but the City of Pain: how strange its streets are:
the false silence of sound drowning sound,
and there--proud, brazen, effluence from the mold of emptiness--
the gilded hubbub, the bursting monument.
How an Angel would stamp out their market of solaces,
set up alongside their church bought to order:
clean and closed and woeful as a post office on Sunday.
Outside, though, there's always the billowing edge of the fair.
Swings of Freedom! High-divers and Jugglers of Zeal!
And the shooting gallery with its figures of idiot Happiness
which jump, quiver, and fall with a tinny ring
whenever some better marksman scores. Onward he lurches from cheers
to chance; for booths courting each curious taste
are drumming and barking. And then--for adults only--
a special show: how money breeds, its anatomy, not some charade:
money's genitals, everything, the whole act
from beginning to end--educational and guaranteed to make you
virile . . . . . . . . .
. . . . Oh, but just beyond that,
behind the last of the billboards, plastered with signs for "Deathless,"
that bitter beer which tastes sweet to those drinking it
as long as they have fresh distractions to chew . . . ,
just beyond those boards, just on the other side: things are real.
Children play, lovers hold each other, off in the shadows,
pensive, on the meager grass, while dogs obey nature.
The youth is drawn farther on; perhaps he's fallen in love
with a young Lament . . . . . He pursues her, enters meadowland.
She says:
"It's a long way. We live out there . . ."
 Where? And the youth follows.
Something in her bearing stirs him. Her shoulders, neck--,
perhaps she's of noble descent. Still, he leaves her, turns around,
glances back, waves . . . What's the use? She's a Lament.
Written by James Wright | Create an image from this poem

Outside Fargo North Dakota

 Along the sprawled body of the derailed Great Northern freight car,
I strike a match slowly and lift it slowly.
No wind.

Beyond town, three heavy white horses
Wade all the way to their shoulders
In a silo shadow.

Suddenly the freight car lurches.
The door slams back, a man with a flashlight
Calls me good evening.
I nod as I write good evening, lonely
And sick for home.
Written by Rg Gregory | Create an image from this poem

avalanche

 all is still on this starless night
the mountain waits
quiescent as a cat
smoothing crag and chasm
to a white fur

then against the black sky
puffs of snow
flutter from a jutting cliff
into obscurity

a drumroll utters
from the mountain's throat
and stops
reprehended by a silence so intense
that even night
seems shallow in its presence

high up a front of snow
crumples and cascades down
plashing from rock to rock
spawning further falls
echoing itself to dotage
in the sharp hills

and again the wound of silence
bleeds about the mountain

again the grumbling drumroll
a giant peak
staggering with ice
suddenly sags
and booming like a cry
sprawls into a gully
tumbles blind with spray
lurches bounces
dizzily jazzing downwards
in the outraged night
now it roars and crashes
through the squawking snow
lunges smashes
into crest and crag
devours ridges
pitches over cliffs
bursts tremendously through gaps
now booms and rebooms
thunders and rethunders
as in its rapid shapes
it plunges wildly down 
rifts instantly appear
and craters fill - crags snap off
like fingers - boulders fly
and down and down
within its own created
turmoil of demented spray
still accumulating speed
this daft fantastic mass
white-hot with bitter rage
thrashes seethes explodes
until
before some obdurate cliff face
or deep in a ravine
it hurls itself at last
indifferently to death

and then there is this silence
too hurt too solid a thing to bear
beside the foaming mountain

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry