Allison MvVety

To the Lighthouse

http://www.poetrysociety.org.uk/content/competitions/npc/mcvety/

Frank O'Hara

Why I am not a Painter

http://wings.buffalo.edu/english/faculty/conte/syllabi/377/Frank_O'Hara.html

Geoffrey Chaucer

Against Women Unconstant

Madame, for youre newefangelnesse,
Many a servant have ye put out of grace.
I take my leve of your unstedefastnesse,
For wel I woot, whil ye have lives space,
Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place,
To newe thing youre lust is ay so keene;
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.
Right as a mirour nothing may enpresse,
But, lightly as it cometh, so mote it pace,
So fareth youre love, youre werkes bereth witnesse.
Ther is no faith that may your herte enbrace;
But, as a wedercok, that turneth his face
With every wind, ye fare, and this is seene;
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.

Ye might be shrined, for youre brothelnesse,
Bet that Dalida, Criseide or Candace;
For ever in chaunging stant youre sikernesse;
That tache may no wight fro yuor herte arace.
If ye lese oon, ye can wel twain purchace;
Al light for somer, ye woot wel what I mene,
In stede of blew, thus may ye were al greene.

Colette Bryce

The Poetry Bug

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/feb/24/poetry-bug-colette-bryce

Elizabeth Barret Browning

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Mark Doty

Atlantis


http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/atlantis-12/

Dannie Apse

Pathology of Colours

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do;jsessionid=0DC0FE066C98C28340B278CDC093A804?poemId=71

Beowulf

Beowulf : the Prologue
translated from the Anglo-Saxon by Seamus Heaney.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3iK7T5kx_c

Mimi Khalvati

Ghazal
http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do;jsessionid=BCFFBB176B68B11A8DC26CBE63229AE8?poemId=5140

John Keats

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

Ted Hughes

The Thought Fox

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do;jsessionid=89E51A702ADB05B3AED0BA31495A8F26?poemId=13821

Simon Barraclough

Sol
http://www.stanzapoetry.org/2012/participant.php?participant=353

Gill Andrews

Tom Potter

http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poetry/poems/tom-potter

Kerry Hardie

After My Father Died

http://www.poetryinternational.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=13793

Jane McKie

The Leper Window
(Scroll down through the article to find the poem)
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/aug/18/edwin-morgan-prize-jane-mckie-edinburgh-book-festival

Tusiata Avia

My Dog

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfYMEWrx0PA

Basil Bunting

What the Chairman told Tom

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do;jsessionid=4E09B68984ADF98237FFE980661BBF8A?poemId=7501

Tadeusz Dabrowski

The Other Part of Truth

http://www.guernicamag.com/poetry/1555/the_other_part_of_truth/

David Morley

Nightingales

http://www.stanzapoetry.org/2012/participant.php?participant=399

John Glenday

Imagine you are driving.

http://www.stanzapoetry.org/2012/participant.php?participant=375

Edward Thomas

Adlestrop

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Yes, I remember Adlestrop -- The name, because one afternoon Of heat the express-train drew up there Unwontedly. It was late June. The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat. No one left and no one came On the bare platform. What I saw Was Adlestrop -- only the name And willows, willow-herb, and grass, And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry, No whit less still and lonely fair Than the high cloudlets in the sky. And for that minute a blackbird sang Close by, and round him, mistier, Farther and farther, all the birds Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire. Edward Thomas (died at Arras, 1917)

Grace Nichols

Advice on Crossing a Street in Delhi

http://www.stanzapoetry.org/2012/participant.php?participant=402

Robert Lowell

Skunk Hour

By Robert Lowell 1917–1977

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/learning/guide/179983

John Siddique

http://www.stanzapoetry.org/2012/participant.php?participant=412

Scroll down through information to see poem.

Michael Symmons Roberts

http://www.symmonsroberts.com/pages/content/index.asp?PageID=33

Rachel Boast

Agrarian Song

http://www.stanzapoetry.org/2012/participant.php?participant=355

Seumas Heaney

St Kevin and the Blackbird

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do?poemId=1396

Dafydd ap Gwilym

Merched Llanbadarn/The Girls of Llanbadarn
http://www.dafyddapgwilym.net/AnaServer?dafydd+253098+compareSimpleEng.anv+edEl=252861&localEl=253098&titleEl=252849