If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it.
#AmericanWriters
715 The World—feels Dusty When We stop to Die— We want the Dew—then— Honors—taste dry—
412 I read my sentence—steadily— Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause—
I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry…
575 “Heaven” has different Signs—to m… Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn,
XXXVIII THROUGH the straight pass of su… The martyrs even trod, Their feet upon temptation, Their faces upon God.
899 Herein a Blossom lies— A Sepulchre, between— Cross it, and overcome the Bee— Remain—'tis but a Rind.
942 Snow beneath whose chilly softness Some that never lay Make their first Repose this Wint… I admonish Thee
945 This is a Blossom of the Brain— A small—italic Seed Lodged by Design or Happening The Spirit fructified—
859 A doubt if it be Us Assists the staggering Mind In an extremer Anguish Until it footing find.
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
989 Gratitude—is not the mention Of a Tenderness, But its still appreciation Out of Plumb of Speech.
When Memory is full Put on the perfect Lid - This Morning’s finest syllable Presumptuous Evening said -
A Sloop of Amber slips away Upon an Ether Sea, And wrecks in Peace a Purple Tar… The Son of Ecstasy -
Part One: Life LI IT tossed and tossed,— A little brig I knew,— O’ertook by blast,
63 If pain for peace prepares Lo, what “Augustan” years Our feet await! If springs from winter rise,