May (Nancy Byrd Turner Poems)
A green-thatched cottage was May's sweet home With velvet moss for a floor, And a clambering vine in the gay sunshine, And a ...
A green-thatched cottage was May's sweet home With velvet moss for a floor, And a clambering vine in the gay sunshine, And a ...
Lord's lost Him His mockingbird, His fancy warbler; Satan sweet-talked her, four bullets hushed her. Who would have thought she'd end that way?Four bullets hushed ...
In Memory of David KubalYour kind of night, David, your kind of night.The dog would eye you as you closed ...
So I would hear out those lungs,The air split into nine levels,Some gift of tongues of the whistlerIn the invalid's ...
If ever we see those gardens again,The summer will be gone-at least our summer.Some other mockingbird will concertizeAmong the mulberries, ...
Pennsylvania, 1948-1949The garden of Nature opens. The grass at the threshold is green. And an almond tree begins to bloom. ...
The house in Broad Street, red brick, with nine rooms the weedgrown graveyard with its rows of tombs the jail ...
He thinks her little feet should pass Where dandelions star thickly grass; Her hands should lift in sunlit air Sea-wind ...
The sky in the trees, the trees mixed up with what's left of heaven, nearby a patch of daffodils rooted ...
Many setups. At least as many falls. Winter is paralyzing the country, but not here. Here, the boys are impersonating ...
He thinks her little feet should pass Where dandelions star thickly grass; Her hands should lift in sunlit air Sea-wind ...
After yesterday afternoon's blue clouds and white rain the mockingbird in the backyard untied the drops from leaves and twigs ...
You'll rejoice at how many kinds of shit there are: gosling shit (which J. Williams said something was as green ...
A New Version: 1980 What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Walt Whitman One Out ...
THERE is a wolf in me . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . a red tongue for raw meat . ...
IT'S going to come out all right-do you know? The sun, the birds, the grass-they know. They get along-and we'll ...
I WAS born on the prairie and the milk of its wheat, the red of its clover, the eyes of ...
April, and the last of the plum blossoms scatters on the black grass before dawn. The sycamore, the lime, the ...
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