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Best Famous Timing Poems

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

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Written by Anne Sexton | Create an image from this poem

Cinderella

 You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
from diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
They just don't heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.


Written by John Ashbery | Create an image from this poem

Daffy Duck In Hollywood

 Something strange is creeping across me.
La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars
Of "I Thought about You" or something mellow from
Amadigi di Gaula for everything--a mint-condition can
Of Rumford's Baking Powder, a celluloid earring, Speedy
Gonzales, the latest from Helen Topping Miller's fertile
Escritoire, a sheaf of suggestive pix on greige, deckle-edged
Stock--to come clattering through the rainbow trellis
Where Pistachio Avenue rams the 2300 block of Highland
Fling Terrace. He promised he'd get me out of this one,
That mean old cartoonist, but just look what he's 
Done to me now! I scarce dare approach me mug's attenuated
Reflection in yon hubcap, so jaundiced, so déconfit
Are its lineaments--fun, no doubt, for some quack phrenologist's
Fern-clogged waiting room, but hardly what you'd call
Companionable. But everything is getting choked to the point of
Silence. Just now a magnetic storm hung in the swatch of sky
Over the Fudds' garage, reducing it--drastically--
To the aura of a plumbago-blue log cabin on
A Gadsden Purchase commemorative cover. Suddenly all is
Loathing. I don't want to go back inside any more. You meet
Enough vague people on this emerald traffic-island--no,
Not people, comings and goings, more: mutterings, splatterings,
The bizarrely but effectively equipped infantries of 
happy-go-nutty
Vegetal jacqueries, plumed, pointed at the little
White cardboard castle over the mill run. "Up
The lazy river, how happy we could be?"
How will it end? That geranium glow
Over Anaheim's had the riot act read to it by the
Etna-size firecracker that exploded last minute into
A carte du Tendre in whose lower right-hand corner
(Hard by the jock-itch sand-trap that skirts
The asparagus patch of algolagnic nuits blanches) Amadis
Is cozening the Princesse de Cleves into a midnight 
micturition spree
On the Tamigi with the Wallets (Walt, Blossom, and little
Sleezix) on a lamé barge "borrowed" from Ollie
Of the Movies' dread mistress of the robes. Wait!
I have an announcement! This wide, tepidly meandering, 
Civilized Lethe (one can barely make out the maypoles
And châlets de nécessitê on its sedgy shore) 
leads to Tophet, that
Landfill-haunted, not-so-residential resort from which
Some travellers return! This whole moment is the groin
Of a borborygmic giant who even now
Is rolling over on us in his sleep. Farewell bocages,
Tanneries, water-meadows. The allegory comes unsnarled
Too soon; a shower of pecky acajou harpoons is 
About all there is to be noted between tornadoes. I have
Only my intermittent life in your thoughts to live
Which is like thinking in another language. Everything
Depends on whether somebody reminds you of me.
That this is a fabulation, and that those "other times"
Are in fact the silences of the soul, picked out in 
Diamonds on stygian velvet, matters less than it should.
Prodigies of timing may be arranged to convince them
We live in one dimension, they in ours. While I
Abroad through all the coasts of dark destruction seek
Deliverance for us all, think in that language: its 
Grammar, though tortured, offers pavillions
At each new parting of the ways. Pastel
Ambulances scoop up the quick and hie them to hospitals.
"It's all bits and pieces, spangles, patches, really; nothing
Stands alone. What happened to creative evolution?"
Sighed Aglavaine. Then to her Sélysette: "If his
Achievement is only to end up less boring than the others, 
What's keeping us here? Why not leave at once?
I have to stay here while they sit in there,
Laugh, drink, have fine time. In my day
One lay under the tough green leaves,
Pretending not to notice how they bled into
The sky's aqua, the wafted-away no-color of regions supposed
Not to concern us. And so we too
Came where the others came: nights of physical endurance,
Or if, by day, our behavior was anarchically
Correct, at least by New Brutalism standards, all then
Grew taciturn by previous agreement. We were spirited 
Away en bateau, under cover of fudge dark.
It's not the incomplete importunes, but the spookiness
Of the finished product. True, to ask less were folly, yet
If he is the result of himself, how much the better 
For him we ought to be! And how little, finally, 
We take this into account! Is the puckered garance satin
Of a case that once held a brace of dueling pistols our 
Only acknowledging of that color? I like not this,
Methinks, yet this disappointing sequel to ourselves
Has been applauded in London and St. Petersburg. Somewhere
Ravens pray for us." The storm finished brewing. And thus
She questioned all who came in at the great gate, but none
She found who ever heard of Amadis,
Nor of stern Aureng-Zebe, his first love. Some
They were to whom this mattered not a jot: since all
By definition is completeness (so
In utter darkness they reasoned), why not
Accept it as it pleases to reveal itself? As when
Low skyscrapers from lower-hanging clouds reveal
A turret there, an art-deco escarpment here, and last perhaps
The pattern that may carry the sense, but
Stays hidden in the mysteries of pagination. 
Not what we see but how we see it matters; all's
Alike, the same, and we greet him who announces
The change as we would greet the change itself. 
All life is but a figment; conversely, the tiny
Tome that slips from your hand is not perhaps the 
Missing link in this invisible picnic whose leverage
Shrouds our sense of it. Therefore bivouac we 
On this great, blond highway, unimpeded by
Veiled scruples, worn conundrums. Morning is
Impermanent. Grab sex things, swing up
Over the horizon like a boy
On a fishing expedition. No one really knows
Or cares whether this is the whole of which parts
Were vouchsafed--once--but to be ambling on's
The tradition more than the safekeeping of it. This mulch for
Play keeps them interested and busy while the big,
Vaguer stuff can decide what it wants--what maps, what
Model cities, how much waste space. Life, our
Life anyway, is between. We don't mind 
Or notice any more that the sky is green, a parrot
One, but have our earnest where it chances on us, 
Disingenuous, intrigued, inviting more,
Always invoking the echo, a summer's day.
Written by Margaret Atwood | Create an image from this poem

Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing

 The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of 
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent 
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.

I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worse suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads 
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge 
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can't. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape's been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.
Speaking of which, it's the smiling
tires me out the most. 
This, and the pretence
that I can't hear them.
And I can't, because I'm after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slab of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meanings are lilting and oblique.
I don't let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I'll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner. 
That's what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.

Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body. 
They'd like to see through me, 
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look--my feet don't hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.
Written by Walt Whitman | Create an image from this poem

Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking

 1
OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking, 
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle, 
Out of the Ninth-month midnight, 
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d
 alone, bare-headed, barefoot, 
Down from the shower’d halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they were alive, 
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries, 
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me, 
From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful risings and fallings I heard, 
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist, 
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease, 
From the myriad thence-arous’d words, 
From the word stronger and more delicious than any, 
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing, 
Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly, 
A man—yet by these tears a little boy again, 
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, 
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping beyond them, 
A reminiscence sing. 

2
Once, Paumanok, 
When the snows had melted—when the lilac-scent was in the air, and the Fifth-month grass
 was
 growing, 
Up this sea-shore, in some briers,
Two guests from Alabama—two together, 
And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with brown, 
And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand, 
And every day the she-bird, crouch’d on her nest, silent, with bright eyes, 
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them,
Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating. 

3
Shine! shine! shine! 
Pour down your warmth, great Sun! 
While we bask—we two together. 

Two together!
Winds blow South, or winds blow North, 
Day come white, or night come black, 
Home, or rivers and mountains from home, 
Singing all time, minding no time, 
While we two keep together.

4
Till of a sudden, 
May-be kill’d, unknown to her mate, 
One forenoon the she-bird crouch’d not on the nest, 
Nor return’d that afternoon, nor the next, 
Nor ever appear’d again.

And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the sea, 
And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer weather, 
Over the hoarse surging of the sea, 
Or flitting from brier to brier by day, 
I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the he-bird,
The solitary guest from Alabama. 

5
Blow! blow! blow! 
Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok’s shore! 
I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me. 

6
Yes, when the stars glisten’d,
All night long, on the prong of a moss-scallop’d stake, 
Down, almost amid the slapping waves, 
Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears. 

He call’d on his mate; 
He pour’d forth the meanings which I, of all men, know.

Yes, my brother, I know; 
The rest might not—but I have treasur’d every note; 
For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the beach gliding, 
Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows, 
Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts,
The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, 
I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, 
Listen’d long and long. 

Listen’d, to keep, to sing—now translating the notes, 
Following you, my brother.

7
Soothe! soothe! soothe! 
Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, 
And again another behind, embracing and lapping, every one close, 
But my love soothes not me, not me. 

Low hangs the moon—it rose late;
O it is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love. 

O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land, 
With love—with love. 

O night! do I not see my love fluttering out there among the breakers? 
What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

Loud! loud! loud! 
Loud I call to you, my love! 

High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves; 
Surely you must know who is here, is here; 
You must know who I am, my love.

Low-hanging moon! 
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? 
O it is the shape, the shape of my mate! 
O moon, do not keep her from me any longer. 

Land! land! O land!
Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again, if you only
 would;

For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look. 

O rising stars! 
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you. 

O throat! O trembling throat!
Sound clearer through the atmosphere! 
Pierce the woods, the earth; 
Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I want. 

Shake out, carols! 
Solitary here—the night’s carols!
Carols of lonesome love! Death’s carols! 
Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon! 
O, under that moon, where she droops almost down into the sea! 
O reckless, despairing carols. 

But soft! sink low;
Soft! let me just murmur; 
And do you wait a moment, you husky-noised sea; 
For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me, 
So faint—I must be still, be still to listen; 
But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me.

Hither, my love! 
Here I am! Here! 
With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to you; 
This gentle call is for you, my love, for you. 

Do not be decoy’d elsewhere!
That is the whistle of the wind—it is not my voice; 
That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray; 
Those are the shadows of leaves. 

O darkness! O in vain! 
O I am very sick and sorrowful.

O brown halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping upon the sea! 
O troubled reflection in the sea! 
O throat! O throbbing heart! 
O all—and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night. 

Yet I murmur, murmur on!
O murmurs—you yourselves make me continue to sing, I know not why. 

O past! O life! O songs of joy! 
In the air—in the woods—over fields; 
Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved! 
But my love no more, no more with me!
We two together no more. 

8
The aria sinking; 
All else continuing—the stars shining, 
The winds blowing—the notes of the bird continuous echoing, 
With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning,
On the sands of Paumanok’s shore, gray and rustling; 
The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost
 touching; 
The boy extatic—with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying, 
The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting, 
The aria’s meaning, the ears, the Soul, swiftly depositing,
The strange tears down the cheeks coursing, 
The colloquy there—the trio—each uttering, 
The undertone—the savage old mother, incessantly crying, 
To the boy’s Soul’s questions sullenly timing—some drown’d secret hissing, 
To the outsetting bard of love.

9
Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,) 
Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it mostly to me? 
For I, that was a child, my tongue’s use sleeping, 
Now I have heard you, 
Now in a moment I know what I am for—I awake,
And already a thousand singers—a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than
 yours, 
A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, 
Never to die. 

O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—projecting me; 
O solitary me, listening—nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you;
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations, 
Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, 
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night, 
By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon, 
The messenger there arous’d—the fire, the sweet hell within,
The unknown want, the destiny of me. 

O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here somewhere;) 
O if I am to have so much, let me have more! 
O a word! O what is my destination? (I fear it is henceforth chaos;) 
O how joys, dreads, convolutions, human shapes, and all shapes, spring as from graves
 around
 me!
O phantoms! you cover all the land and all the sea! 
O I cannot see in the dimness whether you smile or frown upon me; 
O vapor, a look, a word! O well-beloved! 
O you dear women’s and men’s phantoms! 

A word then, (for I will conquer it,)
The word final, superior to all, 
Subtle, sent up—what is it?—I listen; 
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves? 
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands? 

10
Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not, 
Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before day-break, 
Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word DEATH; 
And again Death—ever Death, Death, Death, 
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like my arous’d child’s heart,
But edging near, as privately for me, rustling at my feet, 
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me softly all over, 
Death, Death, Death, Death, Death. 

Which I do not forget, 
But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,
That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’s gray beach, 
With the thousand responsive songs, at random, 
My own songs, awaked from that hour; 
And with them the key, the word up from the waves, 
The word of the sweetest song, and all songs,
That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet, 
The sea whisper’d me.
Written by Marge Piercy | Create an image from this poem

Implications of One Plus One

 Sometimes we collide, tectonic plates merging, 
continents shoving, crumpling down into the molten 
veins of fire deep in the earth and raising 
tons of rock into jagged crests of Sierra. 

Sometimes your hands drift on me, milkweed's 
airy silk, wingtip's feathery caresses, 
our lips grazing, a drift of desires gathering 
like fog over warm water, thickening to rain. 

Sometimes we go to it heartily, digging, 
burrowing, grunting, tossing up covers 
like loose earth, nosing into the other's 
flesh with hot nozzles and wallowing there. 

Sometimes we are kids making out, silly 
in the quilt, tickling the xylophone spine, 
blowing wet jokes, loud as a whole 
slumber party bouncing till the bed breaks. 

I go round and round you sometimes, scouting, 
blundering, seeking a way in, the high boxwood 
maze I penetrate running lungs bursting 
toward the fountain of green fire at the heart. 

Sometimes you open wide as cathedral doors 
and yank me inside. Sometimes you slither 
into me like a snake into its burrow. 
Sometimes you march in with a brass band. 

Ten years of fitting our bodies together 
and still they sing wild songs in new keys. 
It is more and less than love: timing, 
chemistry, magic and will and luck. 

One plus one equal one, unknowable except 
in the moment, not convertible into words, 
not explicable or philosophically interesting. 
But it is. And it is. And it is. Amen.


Written by Belinda Subraman | Create an image from this poem

The Waiting

 Silence has no zen today.
Ambient freeway noise
from ? mile away,
the occasional Friday nighter
coming home 2:00 a.m. Saturday, 
the appliances with two-tone hums,
the bumping and grinding
of an old swamp cooler,
a distant train,
forces what has been pushed back
to break through.

My father needs O 2
all the time now. 
His innocence 
in countering the surgeons’ truth
with his wishes and beliefs
stabs me in the heart 
with love
while his every movement
is pain.

He says he is ready
but I feel his fear.

The hum of the universe
is machine noise,
a motor with it’s timing off.

I meditate on this:
silence is a whistle,
a din in the wind,
in the dark.
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Shakespeare And Cervantes

 Obit 23rd April 1616

Is it not strange that on this common date,
Two titans of their age, aye of all Time,
Together should renounce this mortal state,
And rise like gods, unsullied and sublime?
Should mutually render up the ghost,
And hand n hand join Jove's celestial host?

What wondrous welcome from the scribes on high!
Homer and Virgil would be waiting there;
Plato and Aristotle standing nigh;
Petrarch and Dante greet the peerless pair:
And as in harmony they make their bow,
Horace might quip: "Great timing, you'll allow."

Imagine this transcendant team arrive
At some hilarious banquet of the gods!
Their nations battled when they were alive,
And they were bitter foes - but what's the odd?
Actor and soldier, happy hand in hand,
By death close-linked, like loving brothers stand.

But how diverse! Our Will had gold and gear,
Chattels and land, the starshine of success;
The bleak Castilian fought with casque and spear,
Passing his life in prisons - more or less.
The Bard of Avon was accounted rich;
Cervantes often bedded in a ditch.

Yet when I slough this flesh, if I could meet
By sweet, fantastic fate one of these two,
In languorous Elysian retreat,
Which would I choose? Fair reader, which would you?
Well, though our William more divinely wrote,
By gad! the lousy Spaniard has my vote.
Written by Hugo Williams | Create an image from this poem

Unobtainable

 Whether it was putting in an extra beat, 
or leaving one out, I couldn't tell. 
My heart seemed to have forgotten 
everything it ever knew 
about timing and co-ordination 
in its efforts to get through to someone 
on the other side of a wall. 
As I lay in bed, I could hear it 
hammering away inside my pillow, 
being answered now and then 
by a distant guitar-note of bedsprings, 
pausing for a moment, as if listening, 
Then hurrying on as before.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry