"peevishness" poems - Hello Poetry

Peevishness is an indigo plant How could it not be peevish? It's supposed to be green How is it absorbing sunlight? Where is the chlorophyll? How is this happening? This isn't what is supposed to happen What the heck will its flowers look like? Will THEY be green? What creature would eat or pollinate An INDIGO PLANT? A manticore? A kelpie? ... Calm down, indigo plant You have a purpose for being this way Let it be

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Apr 2, 2014

Apr 2, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC

hope-everding

Lament of an Indigo Plant

Peevishness is an indigo plant How could it not be peevish? It's supposed to be green How is it absorbing sunlight? Where is the chlorophyll? How is this happening? This isn't what is supposed to happen What the heck will its flowers look like? Will THEY be green? What creature would eat or pollinate An INDIGO PLANT? A manticore? A kelpie? ... Calm down, indigo plant You have a purpose for being this way Let it be

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The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then, He groped and fiddled doggedly along, His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng The stony peevishness of sightless men. He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again, Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song, So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong, You hardly could distinguish one in ten. He stopped. at last, and sat him on the sand, And, grasping wearily his bread-winner, Staring dim towards the blue immensity, Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand. He may have slept: he did not speak nor stir: His gesture spoke a vast despondency.

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1.4k

William Ernest Henley

Croquis

The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then, He groped and fiddled doggedly along, His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng The stony peevishness of sightless men. He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again, Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song, So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong, You hardly could distinguish one in ten. He stopped. at last, and sat him on the sand, And, grasping wearily his bread-winner, Staring dim towards the blue immensity, Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand. He may have slept: he did not speak nor stir: His gesture spoke a vast despondency.

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--To G. W. The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then, He groped and fiddled doggedly along, His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng The stony peevishness of sightless men. He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again, Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song, So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong, You hardly could distinguish one in ten. He stopped at last, and sat him on the sand, And, grasping wearily his bread-winner, Stared dim towards the blue immensity, Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand. He may have slept: he did not speak nor stir: His gesture spoke a vast despondency.

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1.1k

William Ernest Henley

Croluis

--To G. W. The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then, He groped and fiddled doggedly along, His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng The stony peevishness of sightless men. He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again, Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song, So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong, You hardly could distinguish one in ten. He stopped at last, and sat him on the sand, And, grasping wearily his bread-winner, Stared dim towards the blue immensity, Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand. He may have slept: he did not speak nor stir: His gesture spoke a vast despondency.

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