The Obit by Ethelbert Miller

The Obit by Ethelbert Miller

by | Nov 25, 2025 | Book Poems, Poems, Poetry

After reading my obituary
folks went to their local bookstores
looking for my books. For a few days I was often quoted
like Baldwin and
people went looking for T-shirts with my image. My
books rested on the desks of teachers filled with
bookmarks, notes, and underlined words. Someone said
a critic once said Ethelbert’s poems failed because they
were filled with too much desire and despair. The world
doesn’t need another Neruda. Ethelbert in his last
interview said
“Love is a fragile thing and will always suffocate in
darkness.”
Love is More Thicker Than Forget

Love is More Thicker Than Forget

by | Nov 25, 2025 | Love Poems, Poems, Poetry

love is more thicker than forget

 E. E. Cummings

love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
Copyright Credit: E.E. Cummings, “[love is more thicker than forget]” from Complete Poems 1904-1962
The Year Outgrows The Spring

The Year Outgrows The Spring

by | Nov 21, 2025 | Life Poems, Nature Poems, Poems, Poetry

The Year Outgrows the Spring

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet
And clasps the summer with a new delight,
Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat
When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.

The tree outgrows the bud’s suggestive grace
And feels new pride in blossoms fully blown.
But even this to deeper joy gives place
When bending boughs ‘neath blushing burdens groan.

Life’s rarest moments are derived from change.
The heart outgrows old happiness, old grief,
And suns itself in feelings new and strange.
The most enduring pleasure is but brief.

Our tastes, our needs, are never twice the same.
Nothing contents us long, however dear.
The spirit in us, like the grosser frame,
Outgrows the garments which it wore last year.

Change is the watchword of Progression. When
We tire of well-worn ways, we seek for new.
This restless craving in the souls of men
Spurs them to climb, and seek the mountain view.

So let who will erect an altar shrine
To meek-browed Constancy, and sing her praise.
Unto enlivening Change I shall build mine,
Who lends new zest, and interest to my days.

Withered Leaves by Peter Burn

Withered Leaves by Peter Burn

by | Nov 21, 2025 | Autumn Poems, Nature Poems, Poems, Poetry

Withered Leaves

by Peter Burn

I watch the leaves as they fade and fall
And form a heap by my garden wall.

I think of my loss in days “to be,”
My garden’s wealth but a leafless tree.

I loved those leaves in their day of birth:
I love them now in the lap of earth.

Withered leaves! They are beautiful yet,
Though nipt by the frost, and dash’d by the wet!

Mine eyes feast not on the world of green,
Death holds its revels where life has been.

Snow, sleet, and hail, and a sunless sky!
These, these are mine, till the by and by.

I wait the hour. My heart has rest;
Seasons are faithful to His behest.

Through leaden sky, and through leafless tree,
I see the summer that is to be.

The Circling Year by Ramona Graham

The Circling Year by Ramona Graham

by | Nov 21, 2025 | Nature Poems, Poems, Poetry

The Circling Year

by Ramona Graham
SPRING

The joys of living wreathe my face,
My heart keeps time to freshet’s race;
Of balmy airs I drink my fill—
Why, there’s a yellow daffodil!
Along the stream a soft green tinge
Gives hint of feathery willow fringe;
Methinks I heard a Robin’s “Cheer”—
I’m glad Spring’s here!

SUMMER
An afternoon of buzzing flies.
Heat waves that sear, and quivering rise;
The long white road, the plodding team,
The deep, cool grass in which to dream;
The distant cawing of the crows,
Tall, waving grain, long orchard rows;
The peaceful cattle in the stream—
Midsummer’s dream!

AUTUMN
A cold, gray day, a lowering sky,
A lonesome pigeon wheeling by;
The soft, blue smoke that hangs and fades,
The shivering crane that flaps and wades;
Dead leaves that, whispering, quit their tree,
The peace the river sings to me;
The chill aloofness of the Fall—
I love it all!

WINTER
A sheet of ice, the ring of steel,
The crunch of snow beneath the heel;
Loud, jingling bells, the straw-lined sleigh,
A restless pair that prance and neigh;
The early coming of the night,
Red glowing logs, a shaded light;
The firelit realm of books is mine—
Oh, Winter’s fine!

In Time’s Swing by Lucy Larcom

In Time’s Swing by Lucy Larcom

by | Nov 21, 2025 | Life Poems, Nature Poems, Poems, Poetry

In Time’s Swing

by Lucy Larcom

Father Time, your footsteps go
Lightly as the falling snow.
In your swing I’m sitting, see!
Push me softly; one, two; three,
Twelve times only. Like a sheet,
Spread the snow beneath my feet.
Singing merrily, let me swing
Out of winter into spring.

Swing me out, and swing me in!
Trees are bare, but birds begin
Twittering to the peeping leaves,
On the bough beneath the eaves.
Wait,—one lilac bud I saw.
Icy hillsides feel the thaw.
April chased off March to-day;
Now I catch a glimpse of May.

Oh, the smell of sprouting grass!
In a blur the violets pass.
Whispering from the wildwood come
Mayflower’s breath and insect’s hum.
Roses carpeting the ground;
Thrushes, orioles, warbling sound:—
Swing me low, and swing me high,
To the warm clouds of July.

Slower now, for at my side
White pond lilies open wide.
Underneath the pine’s tall spire
Cardinal blossoms burn like fire.
They are gone; the golden-rod
Flashes from the dark green sod.
Crickets in the grass I hear;
Asters light the fading year.

Slower still! October weaves
Rainbows of the forest leaves.
Gentians fringed, like eyes of blue,
Glimmer out of sleety dew.
Meadow green I sadly miss:
Winds through withered sedges hiss.
Oh, ‘t is snowing, swing me fast,
While December shivers past!

Frosty-bearded Father Time,
Stop your footfall on the rime!
Hard you push, your hand is rough;
You have swung me long enough.
“Nay, no stopping,” say you? Well,
Some of your best stories tell,
While you swing me—gently, do!—
From the Old Year to the New.