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poemagram.bsky.social
Poemagram
@poemagram.bsky.social
2 followers 3 following 6 posts
Poetry Journal
Since 2016
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Dulce et Decorum Est
(By Wilfred Owen)
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Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.— Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,— My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
November 7, 2025 at 8:36 AM
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Sonnet — To Science
(By Edgar Allan Poe)
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Sonnet — To Science (By Edgar Allan Poe) Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car, And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
October 25, 2025 at 5:44 PM
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Poet
(By Ralph Waldo Emerson)
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Poet (By Ralph Waldo Emerson) To clothe the fiery thought In simple words succeeds, For still the craft of genius is To mask a king in weeds.
October 24, 2025 at 10:36 AM
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A Hand-Mirror
(By Walt Whitman)
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A Hand-Mirror By Walt Whitman Hold it up sternly! See this it sends back! (Who is it? Is it you?) Outside fair costume — within ashes and filth, No more a flashing eye — no more a sonorous voice or springy step; Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step, A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face, venerealee's flesh, Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous, Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination, Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams, Words babble, hearing and touch callous, No brain, no heart left — no magnetism of sex; Such, from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence, Such a result so soon — and from such a beginning!
October 23, 2025 at 4:55 PM
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After-Thought
(By William Wordsworth)
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After-Thought By William Wordsworth I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide, As being past away.—Vain sympathies! For, backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide; Still glides the Stream, and shall for ever glide; The Form remains, the Function never dies; While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, We Men, who in our morn of youth defied The elements, must vanish;—be it so! Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour; And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
October 22, 2025 at 8:02 PM
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Death
(By William Butler Yeats)
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Death By William Butler Yeats Nor dread nor hope attend A dying animal; A man awaits his end Dreading and hoping all; Many times he died, Many times rose again. A great man in his pride Confronting murderous men Casts derision upon Supersession of breath; He knows death to the bone — Man has created death.
October 21, 2025 at 10:36 AM