CLXXVIII. There is a pleasure in the pathles… There is a rapture on the lonely s… There is society where none intrud… By the deep Sea, and music in its…
there is enough treachery, hatred… human being to supply any given ar… and the best at murder are those w… and the best at hate are those who… and the best at war finally are th…
My son, my executioner, I take you in my arms, Quiet and small and just astir And whom my body warms. Sweet death, small son, our instru…
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…
I was six when I first saw kitten… Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the sc… Into a bucket; a frail metal sound… Soft paws scraping like mad. But… Was soon soused. They were slung…
winged towards Bethlehem slouching on the couch all day passion week it is donkey... palm leaves...
“For example, what the trees do not only in lightning storms or the watery dark of a summer’s n… or under the white nets of winter but now, and now, and now—whenever
The water turns a long way down over the raw stone… ice crusts around it We walk separately along the hill to the open
A million million spermatozoa All of them alive; Out of their cataclysm but one poo… Dare hope to survive. And among that billion minus one
the time is always now we have come to the threshold we take off our footwear socks and all bare feet we stood we leave behind the door
pleasant time thank you for the other day
Abulgualid Muhámmad Ibn-Ahmad ibn-Muhámmad ibn-Rushd (un siglo tardaría ese largo nombre en llegar a Averroes, pasando por Benraist y por Avenryz, y aun por Aben-Rassad y Filius Rosadis...
It is no night to drown in: A full moon, river lapsing Black beneath bland mirror—sheen, The blue water—mists dropping Scrim after scrim like fishnets
I was a bum in San Francisco but… to go to a symphony concert along… and the music was good but somethi… audience was not and something about the orchestra
She died in the upstairs bedroom By the light of the ev’ning star That shone through the plate glass… From over Leamington Spa Beside her the lonely crochet
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,
Please master can I touch your ch… please master can I kneel at your… please master can I loosen your bl… please master can I gaze at your g… please master can I have your thig…
My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hum… equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there t… Here the clam deep in the speckled…
Don’t bother me. I’ve just been born. The butterfly’s loping flight carries it through the country of…
The boat of the boatman Madhu is… It is uselessly laden with jute, a… for ever so long. If he would only lend me his boat,… hundred oars, and hoist sails, fiv…
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…
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
A table cloth that’s slightly soil… Where greasy little hands have toi… The napkins kept in silver rings, And only ordinary things From which to eat, a simple fare,
Last night in the fields I lay down in the darkness to think about death, but instead I fell asleep,
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…
Is the soul solid, like iron? Or is it tender and breakable, lik… the wings of a moth in the beak of… Who has it, and who doesn’t? I keep looking around me.
Belinda lived in a little white ho… With a little black kitten and a l… And a little yellow dog and a litt… And a realio, trulio, little pet d… Now the name of the little black k…
Come with me into the field of sunflowers. Their faces are burnished disks, their dry spines creak like ship masts,
Some say love’s a little boy, And some say it’s a bird, Some say it makes the world go aro… Some say that’s absurd, And when I asked the man next—doo…
On the stiff twig up there Hunches a wet black rook Arranging and rearranging its feat… I do not expect a miracle Or an accident