Poetry First Aid Kit

Man's Days by Eden Phillpotts

A sudden wakin', a sudden weepin';
A li'l suckin', a li'l sleepin':
A cheel's full joys an' a cheel's short serrows,
Wi' a power o' faith in gert to-morrows.

Young blood red hot an' the love of a maid;
Wan glorious hour as'll never fade;
Some shadows, some sunshine, some triumphs, some tears;
An a gatherin weight o' the flyin' years.

Then auld man's talk o' the days behind 'e;
Your darter's youngest darter to mind 'e;
A li'l dreamin', a li'l dyin',
A li'l lew corner o' airth to lie in.

Little Things by Jacob Polley

The days are long, the borage flowers blue
and our backyard vibrating now with bees
and hoverflies. We know there should be more.
Memory's sunlight swarms with little things
and remembered moonlit darkness, too.
When even from inside we'd hear their wings
beating like eyelashes. So many eyes
beating at both sides of the glass, the air
alive and us back then. Our memories:
What use are they? The getting in our hair,
our mouths, the flutter-tickle on our skins.
The world is what you touch, what touches you.
They visited, alighting on our bodies,
and we thought hardly anything was there.

Loveliest of trees... by A.E. Housman

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide

Now of my threescore years and ten
Twenty will not come again
And take from seventy springs a score
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow

No Second Troy by W.B. Yeats

Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?

This is just to say

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

SUPERKING by Victoria Kennefick

There is a co**se on our bed.
It is Jesus, down from the cross,
the blood spattered across
his rippling torso, the crown of thorns
rippling the pillow slip and the flesh
on his forehead, I don't know why
He is here, with that heart
exposed, His eyes
closed. He is dead,
I think. But you know ho wmen
can be, they say
one thing, and the next thing you know
they're on the road
showing off their open wounds
while back at home
the women weep

People in Taxis by Selina Hill

She puts - she pops - her finger on my nose-
the button nose' that makes me so adorable,
so like a little pug, or pig, or piglet;

she thinks it's just so yummy she could chew it-
as soft as cheeks, as chubby as tomatoes,
as puppy fat that's begging to be nuzzled;

she can't resist feeding me with sugar-lumps
while those who are less fond of helping others
glide about the capital in taxis.

Good and Clever by Elizabeth Wordsworth

If all the good people were clever,
And all clever people were good,
The world would be nicer than ever
We thought it possible could.

But somehow 'tis seldom or never
The two hit it off as they should,
The good are so harsh and so clever,
The clever, so rude to the good!

So friends, let it be our endeavour
To make each by each understood;
For few can be good, like the clever,
Or clever, so well as the good.

JUNK/ANGEL by Lenore Kandel

I have seen the ju**ie angel winging his devious path
over cities
his greenblack pinions parting the air with the sound
of fog
I have seen him plummet to earth, folding
his feathered bat wings against his narrow flesh
pausing to share the orisons of some ecstatic acolyte
The bone shines through his face
and he exudes the rainbow odor of corruption
his eyes are spirals of green radioactive mist
luminous even in sunlight even at noon
his footstep is precise, his glance is tender
he has no mouth nor any other feature
but whirling eyes above the glaring faceless face
he never speaks and always understands he answers
no one
Radiant with a black green radiance
he extends his hollow fingered hands
blessing blessing blessing
his ichorous hollow fingers caressing the shadow
of the man
with love and avarice
and Then unfurls his wings and rides the sky like an
enormous Christian bat
and voiceless
flies behind the sun

The Expendables by Arji Manuelpillai

When I remember my father hugging me,
it isn't actually my father hugging me;
it's a movie I saw with Sylvester Stallone.
He's ruffling my hair, launching me up,
Telling me not to do something. When I quit
he**in, I didn't exactly quit he**in, more like
saving a seat with a bag down, slipping in
every now and then - methadone, spirits,
TV dinners, YouTube rabbit holes.
My counsellor says I need a new network.
I tell her I have two kids who ignore me
what else does a man want? Ha ha ha
I found a flyer, in the margin ads,
Some hall in some pebbledash town,
A group of men, some kinda nice,
kinda charming, like this older guy.
Buys me a pint, ready salted crisps,
rests his arm on my shoulder,
tells me about last night, after the pub,
they drove the streets till the early hours,
spotted a Sikh boy with a local girl,
broke the kid's collar bone. It's just
good to feel part of something