Poems about shave (23 Poems)
Dream Song 92: Room 231: the fourth week (John Berryman Poem)
Something black somewhere in the vistas of his heart. Tulips from Tates teazed Henry in the mood to be a tulip and desire no more but water, but light, but air. Yet his nerves rattled blackly, unsubdued, & suffocation called, … Continue reading
Old Pictures In Florence (Robert Browning Poem)
I. The morn when first it thunders in March, The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say: As I leaned and looked over the aloed arch Of the villa-gate this warm March day, No flash snapped, no dumb … Continue reading
A Man (Charles Bukowski Poem)
George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His dinner dishes were undone, his breakfast dishes were undone, he needed a shave, and ash from his rolled cigarettes dropped onto his undershirt. Some … Continue reading
Show Biz (Charles Bukowski Poems)
I can’t have it and you can’t have it and we won’t get it so don’t bet on it or even think about it just get out of bed each morning wash shave clothe yourself and go out into it … Continue reading
True (Charles Bukowski Poems)
one of Lorca’s best lines is, “agony, always agony …” think of this when you kill a cockroach or pick up a razor to shave or awaken in the morning to face the sun. (Charles Bukowski)
The Passing of Gundagai (Andrew Barton Paterson Poems)
“I’ll introduce a friend!” he said, “And if you’ve got a vacant pen You’d better take him in the shed And start him shearing straight ahead; He’s one of these here quiet men. “He never strikes — that ain’t his … Continue reading
The Man from Iron Bark (Andrew Barton Paterson Poems)
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town, He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down. He loitered here he loitered there, till he was like to drop, Until at last in sheer despair … Continue reading
The Man From Ironbark (Andrew Barton Paterson Poems)
It was a man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town, He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down, He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop, Until at last in sheer despair … Continue reading
SECOND POEM (Peter Orlovsky Poems)
Morning again, nothing has to be done, maybe buy a piano or make fudge. At least clean the room up for sure like my farther I’ve done flick the ashes & butts over the bed side on the floor. But … Continue reading
Late Summer Fires (Les Murray Poems)
The paddocks shave black with a foam of smoke that stays, welling out of red-black wounds. In the white of a drought this happens. The hardcourt game. Logs that fume are mostly cattle, inverted, stubby. Tree stumps are kilns. Walloped, … Continue reading