Morning News (Marilyn Hacker Poem)
Spring wafts up the smell of bus exhaust, of bread and fried potatoes, tips green on the branches, repeats old ...
Spring wafts up the smell of bus exhaust, of bread and fried potatoes, tips green on the branches, repeats old ...
O who will give me tears? Come, all ye springs, Dwell in my head and eyes; come, clouds and rain; ...
O Sacred Providence, who from end to end Strongly and sweetly movest! shall I write, And not of thee, through ...
My God, I heard this day, That none doth build a stately habitation, But he that means to dwell therein. ...
A buglar boy from barrack (it is over the hill There)-boy bugler, born, he tells me, of Irish Mother to ...
THE sun had wheeled from Grey's to Dammer's Crest, And still I mused on that Thing imminent: At length I ...
the cupboard was done up on the outside in the brightest of colours the house it was part of was ...
His barns, his cupboard his house bulging, bursting more than enough, what he needed Gathered for a future but never ...
standing when we should the world in the breach confronting the giant with our lives much that we can teach ...
Many hands raised in the hall voices raised to the ceiling, the heavens each one a voice of discernment of ...
I want to erase your footprints from my walls. Each pillow is thick with your reasons. Omens fill the sidewalk ...
I let myself in at the kitchen door. "It's you," she said. "I can't get up. Forgive me Not answering ...
Just as the sun was setting Back of the Western hills Grandfather stood by the window Eating the last of ...
Before the gate has been closed, before the last quetion is posed, before I am transposed. Before the weeds fill ...
When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy ...
The little box gets her first teeth And her little length Little width little emptiness And all the rest she ...
But, ah! before he came You were only a name: Four little rooms and a cupboard Without a bone, And ...
Down, you mongrel, Death! Back into your kennel! I have stolen breath In a stalk of fennel! You shall scratch ...
Ho, Giant! This is I! I have built me a bean-stalk into your sky! La,-but it's lovely, up so high! ...
1 We live here because the houses are clean, the lawns run right to the street and the streets run ...
from an officer's diary during the last war I The sour daylight cracks through my sleep-caked lids. "Stephan! Stephan!" The ...
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