| first line |
author |
| A kite is a
victim you are sure of. |
Leonard Cohen |
| A
sky of a matron |
Martin Fils Barthold |
| Air from another life and time and place, |
Seamus Heaney |
| All through that Sunday afternoon |
Seamus Heaney |
| Among the
kite-fliers and fly |
Derek Mahon |
| As
I look deeply at the kite’s marvelous flight |
Lekhnath Poudyal |
| As
hands bind me down to the earth, |
Makota Ooka |
| Bright
simple leaf with strong thin bones |
R. Romea Luminairas |
| Climbing high |
Makota Ooka |
| Doan raise no kite is good friday |
Fred d'Aguiar |
| Dreams,
aspirations, joy of living, |
Giancarlo D’Orazio |
| First
you run with it riding behind you on a short string |
John Ratti |
| Green slated gables clasp the stem of the hill |
Norman Nicholson |
| How we used to make the butterflies dance! |
John Dobson |
| I saw you toss
the kites on high |
Robert Louis Stevenson |
| I
see |
Alexa Carver’s class |
| If
you follow the string |
Gwendolyn Endicott |
| It took me a week to make. |
John Dobson |
| Kite |
anon. |
| Kite, follow
a path |
anon. |
| My waking dreams
are best concealed, |
John Newton |
| No
sound –a spell– on, on out |
William Stafford |
| One
day the string broke. |
Eugene McCarthy |
| Out
of the hand and into flight, |
Lynn Davis |
| So many things
our children love! |
anon. |
| The kite flies in the selfsame spot of sky |
Buson |
| The kite is
flying in the sky |
Dasopant |
| The lift, the very lift and pull of it! |
William Logan |
| They float in the air |
Norman MacCaig |
| This is Maple
Grove |
Michael Van Wallegan |
| Thus soaring,
this flying along, |
George Pocock |
| Unfading recollections! — at this hour |
William Wordsworth |
