Eyes are the windows to the soul Is that why they are called blinds… To blind the world of our messes Our distresses as we distrust. To hide from judgement, expectatio…
timelines a few million years ago humans began to evolve appeared a couple hundred thousand years recent adaptations to survive find us tod…
Let me tell you a little story About Miss Edith Gee; She lived in Clevedon Terrace At number 83. She’d a slight squint in her left…
A shilling life will give you all… How Father beat him, how he ran a… What were the struggles of his you… Made him the greatest figure of hi… Of how he fought, fished, hunted,…
there’s a bluebird in my heart tha… wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I’m not goi… to let anybody see
Now they are no longer any trouble to each other he can turn things over, get down… of things that never happened, all… unfinishable business.
Come with me into the field of sunflowers. Their faces are burnished disks, their dry spines creak like ship masts,
I’d like to leave but daffodills to mark my little way, To leave but tulips red and white behind me as I stray; I’d like to pass away from earth
Whose woods these are I think I k… His house is in the village, thoug… He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with sn… My little horse must think it quee…
Doom is dark and deeper than any s… Upon what man it fall In spring, day-wishing flowers app… Avalanche sliding, white snow from… That he should leave his house,
We sit indoors and talk of the col… And every gust that gathers streng… Is a threat to the house. But the… We think of the tree. If it never… We’ll know, we say, that this was…
All winter your brute shoulders st… and steerhide over the ash hames,… sledges of cordwood for drying thr… for the Glenwood stove next winter… In April you pulled cartloads of…
How did I get so dutiful? Was I… Going around as a child with a sma… sweeping up dirt I didn’t make, or out into the yard with a stunte… weeding the gardens of others
I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived
It is December in Wicklow: Alders dripping, birches Inheriting the last light, The ash tree cold to look at. A comet that was lost
My fancies are fireflies, — Specks of living light twinkling in the dark. he voice of wayside pansies, that do not attract the careless g…
Groping back to bed after a piss I part thick curtains, and am star… The rapid clouds, the moon’s clean… Four o’clock: wedge-shadowed garde… Under a cavernous, a wind-picked s…
The sun beats down on his unyieldi… as he stands tall, his eyes fixed… He’s weathered the storms, worn th… and emerged stronger, tempered lik… He knows the weight of his own nam…
My name is john I am the son of a slave My father was taken into slavery At the age of fourteen Where he was forced to work in a q…
Understand, I am always trying to… what the soul is, and where hidden, and what shape and so, last week,
How can he write of sunny, joyful… When sadness weighs heavily on his… How can he think of uplifting rhym… When they’re several thousand mile… His words are flat; and his lines…
I see you drinking at a fountain w… blue hands, no, your hands are not… they are small, and the fountain i… where you wrote me that last lette… I answered and never heard from yo…
It seemed an unlikely match. All… grinding its teeth in a plastic sl… nose-down from a hook in the darkr… under the hatch in the floor. When… it knocked back a quarter-pint of…
Coming up England by a different… For once, early in the cold new ye… We stopped, and, watching men with… Sprint down the platform to famili… ‘Why, Coventry!’ I exclaimed. ‘I…
This is the place you would rather not know about, this is the place that will in hab… this is the place you cannot imagi… this is the place that will finall…
Once I am sure there’s nothing go… I step inside, letting the door th… Another church: matting, seats, an… And little books; sprawlings of fl… For Sunday, brownish now; some br…
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you?
The trees are coming into leaf Like something almost being said; The recent buds relax and spread, Their greenness is a kind of grief… Is it that they are born again
we have everything and we have not… and some men do it in churches and some men do it by tearing butt… in half and some men do it in Palm Spring…
Arms and the girl I sing - O rare arms that are braceleted and white… arms that were lovely Helen’s, in… Greek slaughtered Trojan. Helen w… Scape-nanny call her; wars for tur…