Marking Time – 1 (Raymond A. Foss Poem)
Biding their time, mending their nets, sitting on the shore of the lake Fishermen tending to their work, between fishing, ...
Biding their time, mending their nets, sitting on the shore of the lake Fishermen tending to their work, between fishing, ...
Her pirouette caught, held captive spinning around the invisible cord her arms akimbo, bent up to her chin her leg, ...
A small solitary island without television, phone without running water But it had the call of the loon the splash ...
WHEN Mr. Apollinax visited the United States His laughter tinkled among the teacups. I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure ...
(The Dry Salvages-presumably les trois sauvages-is a small group of rocks, with a beacon, off the N.E. coast of Cape ...
My mother would be a falconress, And I, her gay falcon treading her wrist, would fly to bring back from ...
I LEGEND Long ago Apollo called to Aristæus, youngest of the shepherds, Saying, "I will make you keeper of my ...
The Sun kept setting -- setting -- still No Hue of Afternoon -- Upon the Village I perceived From House ...
The Robin's my Criterion for Tune -- Because I grow -- where Robins do -- But, were I Cuckoo born ...
Indeed. These jagged crevasses of the psyche are treacherous, gray. Extending two hundred plus days in every direction; an ominous ...
A livid sky on London And like the iron steeds that rear A shock of engines halted And I knew ...
Begin, my muse, the imitative lay, Aonian doxies sound the thrumming string; Attempt no number of the plaintive Gay, Let ...
LO here a little volume, but great Book A nest of new-born sweets; Whose native fires disdaining To ly thus ...
These tiny loiterers on the barley's beard, And happy units of a numerous herd Of playfellows, the laughing Summer brings, ...
The day begins to droop,-- Its course is done: But nothing tells the place Of the setting sun. The hazy ...
Oh, the shark has pretty teeth, dear And he shows them pearly white. Just a jack knife has Macheath, dear ...
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and ...
O Lord, Thou hear'st my daily moan And see'st my dropping tears. My troubles all are Thee before, My longings ...
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits, The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates, ...
I saw thee weep---the big bright tear Came o'er that eye of blue; And then methought it did appear A ...
The roses of Love glad the garden of life, Though nurtur'd 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew, Till Time crops the ...
Heap cassia, sandal-buds and stripes Of labdanum, and aloe-balls, Smeared with dull nard an Indian wipes From out her hair: ...
HEAP cassia, sandal-buds and stripes Of labdanum, and aloe-balls, Smear'd with dull nard an Indian wipes From out her hair: ...
That's my last duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, ...
BEAUTEOUS Rosebud, young and gay, Blooming in thy early May, Never may'st thou, lovely flower, Chilly shrink in sleety shower! ...
the night I was going to die I was sweating on the bed and I could hear the crickets and ...
I am like, They tell me, my dear father. Broader brows Howbeit, upon a slenderer undergrowth Of delicate ...
O Rose! who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet; But pale, and hard, and ...
What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, ...
Drop a pebble in the water: just a splash, and it is gone; But there's half-a-hundred ripples circling on and ...
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