Letter (Victor Hugo Poem)
You can see it already: chalks and ochers; Country crossed with a thousand furrow-lines; Ground-level rooftops hidden by the shrubbery; ...
You can see it already: chalks and ochers; Country crossed with a thousand furrow-lines; Ground-level rooftops hidden by the shrubbery; ...
In the fairy tale the sky makes of itself a coat because it needs you to put it on. How ...
After days in the eighties and nineties a coolness this morning the grip of the heat gone the dew heavy ...
I saw love today In goodbye Sorrow Hope For union in eternity A husband wasting, overtaken Reaper alongside Wife losing ...
Surely we are a mere breath, we are dust, forgettable blades of grass Our lives whispers, moments of time in ...
I'll tell you an old-fashioned story That Grandfather used to relate, Of a joiner and building contractor; 'Is name, it ...
Absorbed in familiar rhythms, carillon of senses steeped in good vibrations, surrounded by musical beat pulsing potently in avidly articulated ...
cold nights on the farm, a sock-shod stove-warmed flatiron slid under the covers, mornings a damascene- sealed bizarrerie of fernwork ...
Part I It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering ...
Sometimes the notes are ferocious, skirmishes against the author raging along the borders of every page in tiny black script. ...
The prophetic tribe of the ardent eyes Yesterday they took the road, holding their babies On their backs, delivering to ...
The roaring alongside he takes for granted, and that every so often the world is bound to shake. He runs, ...
The city purrs, it hums along, the morning hardly risen. A well-dressed drunk smears her finger across a doorman's lips ...
It comes oozing out of flowers at night, it comes out of the rain if a snake looks skyward, it ...
CAST a bronze of my head and legs and put them on the king's street. Set the cast of me ...
JABOWSKY'S place is on a side street and only the rain washes the dusty three balls. When I passed the ...
Memory of you is . . . a blue spear of flower. I cannot remember the name of it. Alongside ...
Ah, but the City of Pain: how strange its streets are: the false silence of sound drowning sound, and there--proud, ...
'Twas on Friday the 2nd of March, in the year of 1894, That the Storm Fiend did loudly laugh and ...
I listen to the stillness of you, My dear, among it all; I feel your silence touch my words as ...
THE DREAM This has nothing to do with war or the end of the world. She dreams there are gray ...
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