The Eye (Robinson Jeffers Poem)
The Atlantic is a stormy moat; and the Mediterranean, The blue pool in the old garden, More than five thousand ...
The Atlantic is a stormy moat; and the Mediterranean, The blue pool in the old garden, More than five thousand ...
His barns, his cupboard his house bulging, bursting more than enough, what he needed Gathered for a future but never ...
They decide to exchange heads. Barbie squeezes the small opening under her chin over Ken's bulging neck socket. His wide ...
Were I not a patriot, which of course I am, I would explain just how the term remains a sticking ...
As some vast Tropic tree, itself a wood, That crests its Head with clouds, beneath the flood Feeds its deep ...
He lay within a warm, soft world Of motion. Colors bloomed and fled, Maroon and turquoise, saffron, red, Wave upon ...
Whence flew the litter whereon he was laid? Of what heroic stuff was warlock Henry made? and questions of that ...
Well, as you say, we live for small horizons: We move in crowds, we flow and talk together, Seeing so ...
When I knew, it was raining. Winter in decline. I was tired. You in your soaked shirt diffused into the ...
Empty chocolate boxes, a pillowcase with an orange at the bottom, Nuts and tinsel with its idiosyncratic rustle and brilliant ...
Desks are straining on all fours, flanks Heaving to hurl the hunched riders Down crack and cranny, buck Finger-snapping lids, ...
Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running stream. In bid black letters I ...
To see the clouds his spirit yearned toward so Over new mountains piled and unploughed waves, Back of old-storied spires ...
"the withness of the body" --Whitehead The heavy bear who goes with me, A manifold honey to smear his face, ...
On the tide you ride head high, Like a whale 'mid little fishes; I should envy you as I Help ...
He asked the lady in the train If he might smoke: she smiled consent. So lighting his cigar and fain ...
RED gold of pools, Sunset furrows six o'clock, And the farmer done in the fields And the cows in the ...
(1) This is the sea, then, this great abeyance. How the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation. Electrifyingly-colored sherbets, scooped ...
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp, Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly ...
The hands of the clock were reaching high In an old midtown hotel; I name no name, but its sordid ...
I am not the piston in the flower or The bulging seed throttled by pollen But a separate figure expectant ...
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