Serranilla - Íñigo López de Mendoza

From Calatrava as I took my way
At holy Mary's shrine to kneel and pray,
And sleep upon my eyelids heavy lay,
There where the ground was very rough and wild,
I lost my path and met a peasant child:
From Finojosa, with the herds around her,
There in the fields I found her.

With a Green Scarf - Marin Sorescu

Listen.

With a green scarf I blindfolded
the eyes of the trees
and asked them to catch me.

Every church sings its own soft part - Osip Emilevich Mandelstam

Every church sings its own soft part
In the polyphony of a girl's choir,
And in the stone arches of the Assumption
I make out high, arched brows.

Conscience - Walter Wingate

'Twas a bonnie day – and a day o' dule
The day I plunkit the Sawbath schule!

The bear - Oleh Lysheha

After dining in the moonlight,
He sorted the bones —

the grandmother - Humberto Ak'abal

The night begins,
when the moon
—Grandmother of the villages—
comes out with her lime-white candle
to light up the silence.

A Song for My Father - Delores Gauntlett

Against the yam-vine quiet of the garden
a nightingale stirred with my father: the lift
and fall of the pickaxe, the heaving throat
of the hidden bird exacting
the subtleties of song.
This would become the memory of high grass
brushing wet against the black waterboots.

The Poet’s Voice - Khalil Reza Uluturk

I don’t want freedom gram by gram, grain by grain.

Some Bright Elegance - Kayo Chingonyi

For the screwfaced in good shoes that paper
the walls of dance halls. I have little patience.
I say dance, not to be seen but to be free, your feet
are made for better things. Feel the bitterness
in you lift as it did for a six year old Bojangles
tapping a living out of Richmond beer gardens
to the delight of a crowd that wasn’t lynching
today but laughing at the quickness of the kid.

The way leaves crackle - Eugene Dubnov

The way leaves crackle, snow crunches on the ears,
The way the dog scrabbles at the rustling leaves and the snow.

Imagine the scene - Bruce Levitan

If it wasn't for the
pain
You might almost think the scene
inspiring.

Maungatua - Alexander Bathgate

The spirits' mountain, such the name
The early Maori gave:
Where's his forgotten grave?
We know not; but thou'rt still the same
Gloomy and dread Maungatua.

My Country - Ricardo Miró

Such a small country, spread on an isthmus
where the sky is clearer, the sun brighter;
all your music echoes within me, like the sea
in the small cell of the conch.

Life's Gifts - Olive Shriner

I saw a woman sleeping.
In her sleep she dreamt Life stood before her,
and held in each hand a gift –
in the one Love, in the other Freedom.
And she said to the woman, ‘Choose!’

Water - Pablo Neruda

Everything on earth bristled, the bramble
pricked and the green thread
bit, the petal fell
until the only flower was the falling.

Pour Us Wine - Amir ibn Kolthum

Rise and hold up the curved glass,
And pour us wine of the morning, of El Andar.

To Lady Mori - Ikkyu

The most beautiful and truest of all women;
Her songs the fresh, pure melody of love.
A voice and sweet smile that rends my heart—
I'm in a spring forest of lovely cherry-apples.

The Crucifixion of Christ - William Topaz McGonagall

Then Pilate, the Roman Governor, took Jesus and scourged Him,
And the soldiers platted a crown of thorns, and thought it no sin
To put it on His head, while meekly Jesus stands;
They put on Him a purple robe, and smote Him with their hands.

Love Sonnet XII - Pablo Neruda

Woman ripe, carnal apple, sultry moon,

thick aroma of seaweed, mud and light mashed together,

what obscure clarity opens between your columns?

What night of ancient arousal does man touch with all his senses?

The Lake Isle of Innisfree - W. B. Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

Lesbia Railing - Catullus

Lesbia forever on me rails.
To talk of me, she never fails.
Now, hang me, but for all her art,
I find that I have gained her heart.

Past and Future - Sarojini Naidu

The new hath come and now the old retires:
And so the past becomes a mountain-cell,
Where lone, apart, old hermit-memories dwell
In consecrated calm, forgotten yet
Of the keen heart that hastens to forget
Old longings in fulfilling new desires.

To be born a man - Adela Zamudio

She works so hard
to make up for the sloth
of her husband, and in the house
(Pardon my surprise.)
he's so inept and pompous,
that of course he's the boss
because he's a man!

Curtains! - Jón Thoroddsen

It's raining roses. The angels clap and shout. God Almighty bows and smiles.
A young, inexperienced angel cannot restrain himself. He flaps his wings and shouts: Long live God Almighty. He lives!
The heavens shake with congratulatory shouts, but God Almighty pauses, biting his lip. He is eternal. He smiles and bows.

Yesterday - Nora May French

Now all my thoughts were crisped and thinned
    To elfin threads, to gleaming browns.
Like tawny grasses lean with wind
    They drew your heart across the downs.
Your will of all the winds that blew
    They drew across the world to me
To thread my whimsey thoughts of you
    Along the downs, above the sea.

South - Kamau Brathwaite

But today I recapture the islands'
bright beaches:  blue mist from the ocean
rolling into the fishermen's houses.
By these shores I was born:  sound of the sea
came in at my window, life heaved and breathed in me then
with the strength of that turbulent soil.

Twilight - Joaquín Arcadio Pagaza

Slowly the sun descends at fall of night,
And rests on clouds of amber, rose and red;
The mist upon the distant mountains shed
Turns to a rain of gold and silver light.

No One Plants Fish in the Sea - Flávio de Araújo

Cast your net, fisherman.
To wrap blue silk around the woman
praying on the wharf.
To pay for the children's notebooks.
To keep the storeowner
from turning away.

Banquet at the Tso Family Manor - Du Fu

The windy forest is chequered
By the light of the setting,
Waning moon. I tune the lute,
Its strings are moist with dew.

Matins - Charles Van Gorkom

A sickle of moon is caught
in the branches of cottonwoods
along the ice choked river.