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Claude Mckay Short Poems

Famous Short Claude Mckay Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Claude Mckay. A collection of the all-time best Claude Mckay short poems


by Claude McKay
 Last night I heard your voice, mother,
The words you sang to me
When I, a little barefoot boy,
Knelt down against your knee.
And tears gushed from my heart, mother, And passed beyond its wall, But though the fountain reached my throat The drops refused to fall.
'Tis ten years since you died, mother, Just ten dark years of pain, And oh, I only wish that I Could weep just once again.



by Claude McKay
 Nay, why reproach each other, be unkind, 
For there's no plane on which we two may meet? 
Let's both forgive, forget, for both were blind, 
And life is of a day, and time is fleet.
And I am fire, swift to flame and burn, Melting with elements high overhead, While you are water in an earthly urn, All pure, but heavy, and of hue like lead.

by Claude McKay
 Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night, Too faintly sweet the first May flowers, The stars too gloriously bright, For me to spend the evening hours, When fields are fresh and streams are leaping, Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.

by Claude McKay
 UPON thy purple mat thy body bare 
Is fine and limber like a tender tree.
The motion of thy supple form is rare, Like a lithe panther lolling languidly, Toying and turning slowly in her lair.
Oh, I would never ask for more of thee, Thou art so clean in passion and so fair.
Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me!

by Claude McKay
 Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root,
Cocoa in pods and alligator pears,
And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit,
Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs,

Set in the window, bringing memories
Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills,
And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies
In benediction over nun-like hills.
My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze; A wave of longing through my body swept, And, hungry for the old, familiar ways, I turned aside and bowed my head and wept.



by Claude McKay
 Your words dropped into my heart like pebbles into a pool, 
Rippling around my breast and leaving it melting cool.
Your kisses fell sharp on my flesh like dawn-dews from the limb, Of a fruit-filled lemon tree when the day is young and dim.
But a silence vasty-deep, oh deeper than all these ties Now, through the menacing miles, brooding between us lies.
And more than the songs I sing, I await your written word, To stir my fluent blood as never your presence stirred.

by Claude McKay
 O you would clothe me in silken frocks 
And house me from the cold, 
And bind with bright bands my glossy locks, 
And buy me chains of gold; 

And give me--meekly to do my will-- 
The hapless sons of men:-- 
But the wild goat bounding on the barren hill 
Droops in the grassy pen.

by Claude McKay
 For one brief golden moment rare like wine, 
The gracious city swept across the line; 
Oblivious of the color of my skin, 
Forgetting that I was an alien guest, 
She bent to me, my hostile heart to win, 
Caught me in passion to her pillowy breast; 
The great, proud city, seized with a strange love, 
Bowed down for one flame hour my pride to prove.

by Claude McKay
 I must not gaze at them although 
Your eyes are dawning day; 
I must not watch you as you go 
Your sun-illumined way; 

I hear but I must never heed 
The fascinating note, 
Which, fluting like a river reed, 
Comes from your trembing throat; 

I must not see upon your face 
Love's softly glowing spark; 
For there's the barrier of race, 
You're fair and I am dark.