Famous Fisted Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Fisted poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous fisted poems. These examples illustrate what a famous fisted poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
Berryman, John
...up and clung
dim to the cloth of gold. An un-Greek word
blister, to him guard,
and the trumpeter would not sound, fisted. Ha,
they hustle Clitus out; by another door,
loaded, crowds he back in
who now must, chopped, fall to the spear-ax ah
grabbed from an extra by the boy-god, sore
for weapons. For the sin:
little it is gross Henry has to say.
The King heaved. Pluckt out, the ax-end would
he jab in his sole throat.
As if an end. A baby, the guar...Read more of this...
by
Skillman, Judith
...Herb and spine,
the flat-fisted dream
of stars and dew
formed when he walked
with his telescope
through grasses spotted
by the spit bug.
A raucous noise,
the dawn of great beauty
and he with his tripod
matting the grasses as he walked.
I never saw him dead
on a bed of white down.
Never heard past
the death rattle,
and so, for me, he lives
there in the ragged, noxious...Read more of this...
by
Plath, Sylvia
...rophe a writhing length of cobra,
And the decline of empires the thick coil of a vast
Anacnoda.
Imagine: the world
Fisted to a foetus head, ravined, seamed
With suffering from conception upwards, and there
You have it in hand. Grit in the eye or a sore
Thumb can make anyone wince, but the whole globe
Expressive of grief turns gods, like kings, to rocks.
Those rocks, cleft and worn, themselves then grow
Ponderous and extend despair on earth's
Dark face.
So mi...Read more of this...
by
Paterson, Andrew Barton
...hat keeps the cutters sharp is growling in his cage,
He's always in a hurry; and he's always in a rage --
"You clumsy-fisted mutton-heads, you'd turn a fellow sick,
You pass yourselves as shearers, you were born to swing a pick.
Another broken cutter here, that's two you've broke today,
It's awful how such crawlers come to shear at Castlereagh."
The youngsters picking up the fleece enjoy the merry din,
They throw the classer up the fleece, he throws it to the ...Read more of this...
by
Sandburg, Carl
...e clover over my grave and if any yellow
hair or any blue smoke of flowers is good enough to grow
over me let the dirty-fisted children of the shanty
people pick these flowers.
I have had my chance to live with the people who have
too much and the people who have too little and I chose
one of the two and I have told no man why....Read more of this...
by
Sexton, Anne
...Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
lie, fisted like a snail, so small and strong
at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed
with love. At first hunger is not wrong.
The nurses nod their caps; you are shepherded
down starch halls with the other unnested throng
in wheeling baskets. You tip like a cup; your head
moving to my touch. You sense the way we belong.
But this i...Read more of this...
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