Textures of Creation (Raymond A. Foss Poem)
Smooth glass, clear, or in the prism's spectrum Cool of polished marble in Washington's monuments smooth of a baby's skin, ...
Smooth glass, clear, or in the prism's spectrum Cool of polished marble in Washington's monuments smooth of a baby's skin, ...
After Minnesota's lakes in the winter of '71, it was no big deal but for us it was it was ...
You were my first love Gone when I was thirteen On May Day, your day. Your smiling face and the ...
Paper wasp Collected Mounted Perched on a pin Against old barn board Through the thorax Metal spear Poised as in ...
Words of a poem should be glass But glass so simple-subtle its shape Is nothing but the shape of what ...
I stayed the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountains, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They ...
The three stood listening to a fresh access Of wind that caught against the house a moment, Gulped snow, and ...
Each Life Converges to some Centre -- Expressed -- or still -- Exists in every Human Nature A Goal -- ...
A prompt -- executive Bird is the Jay -- Bold as a Bailiff's Hymn -- Brittle and Brief in quality ...
How brittle are the Piers On which our Faith doth tread -- No Bridge below doth totter so -- Yet ...
What Soft -- Cherubic Creatures -- These Gentlewomen are -- One would as soon assault a Plush -- Or violate ...
He fumbles at your Soul As Players at the Keys Before they drop full Music on -- He stuns you ...
It is amazing, while I lay in bed, I had the lines roaring through my head like locusts on the ...
Whangaehu waters, hot-spilled from the cauldron of Crater Lake, swirling mud-green from the cup between Tahurangi and Pyramid Peak, sulphurous, ...
I never said I would, I only said I could do what you wished, the subtle difference should have raised ...
Why can't I keep out of harm's way? Am I so preoccupied, simultaneously looking ahead, concurrently looking behind; concerned to ...
A crystalline awakening on the plateau, the crisp air as brittle as new celery snaps with expectancy. The cold clings ...
THINK not, 'cause men flattering say You're fresh as April, sweet as May, Bright as is the morning star, That ...
Low and brown barns, thatched and repatched and tattered, Where I had seven sons until to-day, A little hill of ...
Under what withering leprous light The very grass as hair is grey, Grass in the cracks of the paven courts ...
What is Africa to me: Copper sun or scarlet sea, Jungle star or jungle track, Strong bronzed men, or regal ...
Now is the time for the burning of the leaves, They go to the fire; the nostrils prick with smoke ...
So light we were, so right we were, so fair faith shone, And the way was laid so certainly, that, ...
As he said vanity, so vain say I, Oh! Vanity, O vain all under sky; Where is the man can ...
Now that I know How passion warms little Of flesh in the mould, And treasure is brittle,-- I'll lie here ...
"But, sir," I said, "they tell me the man is like to die!" The Canon shook his head indulgently. "Young ...
I shall go away To the brown hills, the quiet ones, The vast, the mountainous, the rolling, Sun-fired and drowsy! ...
"Oh yes, I went over to Edmonstoun the other day and saw Johnny, mooning around as usual! He will never ...
Henry of Donnybrook bred like a pig, bred when he was brittle, bred when big, how he's sweating to support ...
"Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such a one as thyself." (David, Psalms 50.21) ['Will sprawl, now that the heat ...
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