The Cremona Violin (Amy Lowell Poem)
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
Ah, well! but the case seems hopeless, and the pen might write in vain; The people gabble of old things ...
1 On my way home from school up tribal Providence Hill past the Academy ballpark where I could never hope ...
Her brown falcon perches above the sink as steaming water forks over my hands. Below the wrists they shrivel and ...
Where to look, where to find more stones for the rows the walk waiting in the yard unfinished lines, longing ...
Long forgotten memories were preserved on the thin skin on the slides in the trays in the box, crushed years ...
There were boxes every shape and size attic, basement, storage space still, quiet, frozen in time forgotten boxes of shards ...
Down the path Away from the road, Bustle of the highway In the inner quiet Cold of winter Emptiness, sadness, ...
Down the path Away from the road, Bustle of the highway In the inner quiet Cold of winter Emptiness, sadness, ...
The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot "Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et ...
Just over the horizon a great machine of death is roaring and rearing. One can hear it always. Earthquake, starvation, ...
Something strange is creeping across me. La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars Of "I Thought about ...
Starspangled cowboy sauntering out of the almost- silly West, on your face a porcelain grin, tugging a papier-mache cactus on ...
This is a word we use to plug holes with. It's the right size for those warm blanks in speech, ...
The sun, a heavy spider, spins in the thirsty sky. The wind hides under cactus leaves, in doorway corners. Only ...
Empty chocolate boxes, a pillowcase with an orange at the bottom, Nuts and tinsel with its idiosyncratic rustle and brilliant ...
1. You lay in the nest of your real death, Beyond the print of my nervous fingers Where they touched ...
Father, this year's jinx rides us apart where you followed our mother to her cold slumber; a second shock boiling ...
A Poem for Three Voices Setting: A Maternity Ward and round about FIRST VOICE: I am slow as the world. ...
1 Dawn. First light tearing at the rough tongues of the zinnias, at the leaves of the just born. Today ...
If you were twenty-seven and had done time for beating our ex-wife and had no dreams you remembered in the ...
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