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William Carlos (WCW) Williams Short Poems

Famous Short William Carlos (WCW) Williams Poems. Short poetry by famous poet William Carlos (WCW) Williams. A collection of the all-time best William Carlos (WCW) Williams short poems


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 As the cat
climbed over
the top of

the jamcloset
first the right
forefoot

carefully
then the hind
stepped down
into the pit of
the empty
flowerpot



by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.
—through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 There they were
stuck
dog and *****
halving the compass

Then when with his yip
they parted
oh how frolicsome

she grew before him
playful
dancing and
how disconsolate

he retreated
hang-dog
she following
through the shrubbery

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Light hearted William twirled 
his November moustaches 
and, half dressed, looked
from the bedroom window
upon the spring weather. 
Heigh-ya! sighed he gaily 
leaning out to see 
up and down the street 
where a heavy sunlight 
lay beyond some blue shadows. 

Into the room he drew 
his head again and laughed
to himself quietly 
twirling his green moustaches.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Well, Lizzie Anderson! seventeen men—and 
the baby hard to find a father for! 

What will the good Father in Heaven say 
to the local judge if he do not solve this problem? 
A little two-pointed smile and—pouff!— 
the law is changed into a mouthful of phrases.



by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring

a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry

of the year was
awake tingling
near

the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself

sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings' wax

unsignificantly
off the coast
there was

a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Flowers through the window
lavender and yellow

changed by white curtains—
Smell of cleanliness—

Sunshine of late afternoon—
On the glass tray

a glass pitcher, the tumbler
turned down, by which

a key is lying— And the
immaculate white bed

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 A day on the boulevards chosen out of ten years of 
student poverty! One best day out of ten good ones.
Berket in high spirits—"Ha, oranges! Let's have one!"
And he made to snatch an orange from the vender's cart.

Now so clever was the deception, so nicely timed 
to the full sweep of certain wave summits, 
that the rumor of the thing has come down through 
three generations—which is relatively forever!

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red
firetruck
moving
tense
unheeded
to gong clangs
siren howls
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Old age is
a flight of small
cheeping birds
skimming
bare trees
above a snow glaze.
Gaining and failing
they are buffeted
by a dark wind—
But what?
On harsh weedstalks
the flock has rested—
the snow
is covered with broken
seed husks
and the wind tempered
with a shrill
piping of plenty.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 munching a plum on
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand

They taste good to her
They taste good
to her. They taste
good to her

You can see it by
the way she gives herself
to the one half
sucked out in her hand

Comforted
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air
They taste good to her

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Here it is spring again 
and I still a young man! 
I am late at my singing. 
The sparrow with the black rain on his breast 
has been at his cadenzas for two weeks past:
What is it that is dragging at my heart? 
The grass by the back door 
is stiff with sap. 
The old maples are opening 
their branches of brown and yellow moth-flowers. 
A moon hangs in the blue 
in the early afternoons over the marshes. 
I am late at my singing.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 I bought a dishmop— 
having no daughter— 
for they had twisted 
fine ribbons of shining copper 
about white twine 
and made a tousled head
of it, fastened it 
upon a turned ash stick
slender at the neck 
straight, tall— 
when tied upright 
on the brass wallbracket
to be a light for me 
and naked 
as a girl should seem 
to her father.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Cut the bank for the fill.
Dump sand
pumped out of the river
into the old swale

killing whatever was
there before—including
even the muskrats. Who did it?
There's the guy.

Him in the blue shirt and
turquoise skullcap.
Level it down
for him to build a house

on to build a
house on to build a house on
to build a house
on to build a house on to . . .

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 It was an icy day.
We buried the cat,
then took her box
and set fire to it
in the back yard.
Those fleas that escaped
earth and fire
died by the cold.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 They call me and I go.
It is a frozen road
past midnight, a dust
of snow caught
in the rigid wheeltracks.
The door opens.
I smile, enter and
shake off the cold.
Here is a great woman
on her side in the bed.
She is sick,
perhaps vomiting,
perhaps laboring
to give birth to 
a tenth child. Joy! Joy!
Night is a room
darkened for lovers,
through the jalousies the sun
has sent one golden needle!
I pick the hair from her eyes
and watch her misery
with compassion.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Snow falls:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down—
the blizzard
drifts its weight
deeper and deeper for three days
or sixty years, eh? Then
the sun! a clutter of
yellow and blue flakes—
Hairy looking trees stand out
in long alleys
over a wild solitude.
The man turns and there—
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Vast and grey, the sky
is a simulacrum
to all but him whose days
are vast and grey and—
In the tall, dried grasses
a goat stirs
with nozzle searching the ground.
My head is in the air
but who am I . . . ?
—and my heart stops amazed
at the thought of love
vast and grey
yearning silently over me.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Some leaves hang late, some fall
before the first frost—so goes 
the tale of winter branches and old bones.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,
swing and grow paler
over the swirling waters of the river
as if loth to let go,
they are so cool, so drunk with
the swirl of the wind and of the river—
oblivious to winter,
the last to let go and fall
into the water and on the ground.

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 I gotta
buy me a new
girdle.
(I'll buy
you one) O.K.
(I wish

you'd wig-
gle that way
for me,

I'd be
a happy man)
I GOTTA

wig-
gle for this.
(You pig)

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
 Each time it rings
I think it is for
me but it is
not for me nor for

anyone it merely
rings and we
serve it bitterly
together, they and I

by William Carlos (WCW) Williams
Gagarin says, in ecstasy, he could have gone on forever he floated at and sang and when he emerged from that one hundred eight minutes off the surface of the earth he was smiling. Then he returned to take his place among the rest of us from all that division and subtraction a measure to and heel heel and toe he felt as if he had been dancing


Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry