发点我学过的英文诗，不断更新中，请勿灌水~！

[philomela]

都是学校里学过的。。。。。

[philomela]

There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
They don’t know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: “Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!”
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;
He’s a man who won’t fit in.

[philomela]

I wake to a yellow fire
a blazing light hanging
on my face
like a dream of floating balloons
dancing on my nose
& thru the wooden slats of jalousies
I see the leaves
of the mango tree playing
from fresh caresses of the wind
& in the sky
a dizzying blueness
that makes me want to sleep

I wake to a yellow fire
a blazing light hanging
on my face
whistles of keskidees
gently bringing me to life
& sounds of footsteps
like the charm of water-falls
to this smell of fried bakes
& salt-fish

& this yellow fire of dream
turns into the smiling face
of my mother

[philomela]

To create
the pigment of

roses

for your cheek,
living rabbits
were

tortured
in a lab; their

eyes were
burned away.

I have no word
To compare

Your skin

To petals.

[philomela]

My bills are all due and the baby need shoes, and
I’m busted
Cotton is down to a quarter a pound, but
I’m busted
I got a cow that went dry and a hen that won’t lay
And a big stack of bills that gets bigger each day
The country’s gonna haul my belongings away, ‘cause
I’m busted

I went to my brother and asked for a loan, ‘cause
I’m busted
I hate to beg like a dog without his bone, but
I’m busted
My brother said, “There ain’t a thing I can do
My wife and kids are all down with the flu
And I was just thinking of calling on you, and
I’m busted.’

Well I am no thief but a man can go wrong, when
he’s busted
The food that we canned all last summer is gone,
and I’m busted
The fields are all bare and the cotton won’t grow
Me and my family got to pack up and go
But I’ll make a living, just where I don’t know
‘Cause I’m busted
I’m broke…no bread…I mean like nothin’
…forget it…

[philomela]

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

[philomela]

Narrow winding
rock-bitten track:
the SPRONG of the suspension fork
topping out, the back wheel
slides side ways on wet root,
the inner ear compensates
like some pure instince;
single-minded,
you are tow fat tires,
dirt,
mud,
the blur of trees.

The climb:
teeth together,
snarling the air
into your lungs,
rubber sinks into dirt,
claws at rock;
exertion, and acid,
floods your muscles;
then the top:
a saving splash of water
from the bottle.

The descent:
lean back, you are weightless with adrenaline,
eyes wide
with the best kind of fear,
bump,
bounce,
slide;
you can’t turn back now,
can’t re-think,
don’t hesitate
or you will lose your line,
break an arm,
break a collar bone,
or break your neck;
just lean back and don’t brake too hard –
now you’re alive.

[philomela]

What do you minus,
and from where?
I ask my teacher,
but he don’t care.

Ten cubic metres
in square roots,
Or how many toes
go in nine boots?

Change ten decimals
to a fraction
Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!
is my reaction.

[philomela]

Cats sleep fat and walk thin,
Cats when they sleep, slump;
When they wake, pull in –
And where plump’s been
There’s skin.
Cats walk thin.

Cats wait in a lump,
Jump in a streak.
Cats, when they jump, are sleek
As a grape slipping its skin –
They have technique.
Oh, cats don’t creak.
They sneak.

Cats sleep fat.
They spread comfort beneath them
Like a good mat,
As if they picked the place
And then sat.
You walk around one
As if he were the City Hall
After that.

If male,
A cat is apt to sing on a major scale;
This concert is for everybody, this
Is wholesale.

[philomela]

Then there was silence
No more screams of terror
No more pain
of having to bear chains
A nation forgiven for its difference:
A people permitted to dream again

Frolicking in the light of freedom
I feel their suffering
I know the fight is not over
Afflicted with oppression and poverty
my brethren from every corner of
the terrestrial planet
call for me
call for help
and I will go
for their pain is in my blood

Once dressed in filthy rags;
hair ragged like sheep’s wool
shackles branding my wrists and ankles
I cowered before my master’s whip
crying like a child, as every lash scorched and tore through my flesh.
In the midst
of blood, dirt, and bugs
I discovered anguish
I was taught to endure

So strong I am
So glorious my existence
my blackness a shield against evil
I am here because seas of blood
parted, and I passed through
I will not fold when faced with controversies
I will not bend to wickedness
I will not turn a cold shoulder to injustice
I will stand strong
I will persevere
I am a man
A black man