Famous Muscled Poems by Famous Poets

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In the Country

 This life is sweetest; in this wood 
I hear no children cry for food; 
I see no woman, white with care; 
No man, with muscled wasting here.

No doubt it is a selfish thing 
To fly from human suffering; 
No doubt he is a selfish man, 
Who shuns poor creatures, sad and wan.

But 'tis a wretched life to face 
Hunger...Read more of this...

Night-Music

 At one the wind rose,
And with it the noise
Of the black poplars.

Long since had the living
By a thin twine
Been led into their dreams
Where lanterns shine
Under a still veil
Of falling streams;
Long since had the dead
Become untroubled
In the light soil.
There were no mouths
To drink of the wind,
Nor any eyes
To sharpen on the stars'
Wide heaven-holding,
Only the sound
Long sibilant-muscled trees
Were lifting up, the...Read more of this...

Unfolded Out of the Folds

 UNFOLDED out of the folds of the woman, man comes unfolded, and is always to
 come unfolded; 
Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth, is to come the superbest
 man of the earth; 
Unfolded out of the friendliest woman, is to come the friendliest man; 
Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman, can...Read more of this...

Baseball and Writing

 Fanaticism?No.Writing is exciting
and baseball is like writing.
You can never tell with either
how it will go
or what you will do;
generating excitement--
a fever in the victim--
pitcher, catcher, fielder, batter.
Victim in what category?
Owlman watching from the press box?
To whom does it apply?
Who is excited?Might it be I?

It's a pitcher's battle all the way--a duel--
a catcher's, as, with cruel
puma paw, Elston Howard lumbers...Read more of this...

An Old Twenty-Third Man

 “Is that the Three-and-Twentieth, Strabo mine, 
Marching below, and we still gulping wine?” 
From the sad magic of his fragrant cup 
The red-faced old centurion started up, 
Cursed, battered on the table. “No,” he said,
“Not that! The Three-and-Twentieth Legion’s dead, 
Dead in the first year of this damned campaign— 
The Legion’s dead, dead, and won’t rise again. 
Pity? Rome...Read more of this...

Dream Song 11: His mother goes. The mother comes and goes

 His mother goes. The mother comes & goes.
Chen Lung's too came, came and crampt & then
that dragoner's mother was gone.
It seem we don't have no good bed to lie on,
forever. While he drawing his first breath,
while skinning his knees,

while he was so beastly with love for Charlotte Coquet
he skated up & down in front of her house
wishing he could,...Read more of this...

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps

 For I can snore like a bullhorn 
or play loud music 
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman 
and Fergus will only sink deeper 
into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash, 
but let there be that heavy breathing 
or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house 
and he will wrench himself awake 
and...Read more of this...

Night-Music

 At one the wind rose,
And with it the noise
Of the black poplars.

Long since had the living
By a thin twine
Been led into their dreams
Where lanterns shine
Under a still veil
Of falling streams;
Long since had the dead
Become untroubled
In the light soil.
There were no mouths
To drink of the wind,
Nor any eyes
To sharpen on the stars'
Wide heaven-holding,
Only the sound
Long sibilant-muscled trees
Were lifting up, the...Read more of this...

From Loves First Fever To Her Plague

 From love's first fever to her plague, from the soft second
And to the hollow minute of the womb,
From the unfolding to the scissored caul,
The time for breast and the green apron age
When no mouth stirred about the hanging famine,
All world was one, one windy nothing,
My world was christened in a stream of milk.
And earth and sky were as one...Read more of this...

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