Bag Of Mice (Nick Flynn Poem)
I dreamt your suicide note was scrawled in pencil on a brown paperbag, & in the bag were six baby ...
I dreamt your suicide note was scrawled in pencil on a brown paperbag, & in the bag were six baby ...
I stayed the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountains, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They ...
Others taught me with having knelt at well-curbs Always wrong to the light, so never seeing Deeper down in the ...
He saw her from the bottom of the stairs Before she saw him. She was starting down, Looking back over ...
On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side, Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame By Transporter Bridge ...
One evening at dusk as Noah stood on his Ark, Putting green oil in starboard side lamp, His wife came ...
Would you hear a Wild tale of adventure Of a hero who tackled the sea, A super-man swimming the ocean, ...
I'll tell you a seafaring story, Of a lad who won honour and fame Wi' Nelson at Battle 'Trafalgar, Joe ...
THEY are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens, And along the trampled edges of the street I am aware of ...
Memory: I can take my head and strike it on a wall on Cumberland Island Where the night tide came ...
You were never told, Mother, how old Illyawas drunk That last holiday, for five days and nights He stumbled through ...
Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, Made in the last promotion of the Blest; Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise, ...
To the Pious Memory of the Accomplished Young Lady, Mrs Anne Killigrew, Excellent in the Two Sister-arts of Poesy and ...
It dropped so low -- in my Regard -- I heard it hit the Ground -- And go to pieces ...
A poet's cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks ...
THE PROLOGUE. WHEN folk had laughed all at this nice case Of Absolon and Hendy Nicholas, Diverse folk diversely they ...
Most explicit-- the sense of trap as a narrowing cone one's got stuck into and any movement forward simply wedges ...
This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,-- Such tents the Patriarchs loved ! O long unharmed May all its ag?d boughs ...
From a letter from STC to Wordsworth after writing The Nightingale: In stale blank verse a subject stale I send ...
Come queen of months in company Wi all thy merry minstrelsy The restless cuckoo absent long And twittering swallows chimney ...
Summer pleasures they are gone like to visions every one And the cloudy days of autumn and of winter cometh ...
You know the brick path in the back of the house, the one you see from the kitchen window, the ...
The murkiness of the local garage is not so dense that you cannot make out the calendar of pinup drawings ...
Remember the 1340's? We were doing a dance called the Catapult. You always wore brown, the color craze of the ...
I wonder how it all got started, this business about seeing your life flash before your eyes while you drown, ...
In the same dream I am lying in the hollow of a boat, My forehead and eyes against the curved ...
And then life; and once again A house where I was born. Around us The granary above what once had ...
Gray rainwater lay on the grass in the late afternoon. The carp lay on the bottom, resting, while dusk took ...
I leave the office, take the stairs, in time to mail a letter before 3 in the afternoon--the last dispatch. ...
It's not that the Muse feels like clamming up, it's more like high time for the lad's last nap. And ...
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