Billy Collins Poems (41 Poems)
For Bartleby The Scrivener (Billy Collins Poem)
“Every time we get a big gale around here some people just refuse to batten down.” we estimate that ice skating into a sixty mile an hour wind, fully exerting the legs and swinging arms you will be pushed backward … Continue reading
Directions (Billy Collins Poem)
You know the brick path in the back of the house, the one you see from the kitchen window, the one that bends around the far end of the garden where all the yellow primroses are? And you know how … Continue reading
Study In Orange And White (Billy Collins Poem)
I knew that James Whistler was part of the Paris scene, but I was still surprised when I found the painting of his mother at the Musée d’Orsay among all the colored dots and mobile brushstrokes of the French Impressionists. … Continue reading
I Chop Some Parsley While Listening To Art Blakey’s Version Of “Three Blind Mice” (Billy Collins Poems)
And I start wondering how they came to be blind. If it was congenital, they could be brothers and sister, and I think of the poor mother brooding over her sightless young triplets. Or was it a common accident, all … Continue reading
Pinup (Billy Collins Poem)
The murkiness of the local garage is not so dense that you cannot make out the calendar of pinup drawings on the wall above a bench of tools. Your ears are ringing with the sound of the mechanic hammering on … Continue reading
Dharma (Billy Collins Poem)
The way the dog trots out the front door every morning without a hat or an umbrella, without any money or the keys to her doghouse never fails to fill the saucer of my heart with milky admiration. Who provides … Continue reading
Tomes (Billy Collins Poem)
There is a section in my library for death and another for Irish history, a few shelves for the poetry of China and Japan, and in the center a row of imperturbable reference books, the ones you can turn to … Continue reading
Man Listening To Disc (Billy Collins Poem)
This is not bad – ambling along 44th Street with Sonny Rollins for company, his music flowing through the soft calipers of these earphones, as if he were right beside me on this clear day in March, the pavement sparkling … Continue reading
Fishing On The Susquehanna In July (Billy Collins Poem)
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna or on any river for that matter to be perfectly honest. Not in July or any month have I had the pleasure — if it is a pleasure – of fishing on … Continue reading
Thesaurus (Billy Collins Poem)
It could be the name of a prehistoric beast that roamed the Paleozoic earth, rising up on its hind legs to show off its large vocabulary, or some lover in a myth who is metamorphosed into a book. It means … Continue reading
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