The House (Anne Sexton Poems)
In dreams the same bad dream goes on. Like some gigantic German toy the house has been rebuilt upon its ...
In dreams the same bad dream goes on. Like some gigantic German toy the house has been rebuilt upon its ...
In those days the oatfields' fenced-in vats of running platinum, the yellower alloy of wheat and barley, whose end, however ...
Foweles in the frith, The fisses in the flod, And I mon waxe wod; Mulch sorwe I walke with For ...
As a child, they could not keep me from wells And old pumps with buckets and windlasses. I loved the ...
The leaves of last autumn bled all their colors like rice paper maples not yet on the ground Illumined like ...
Maybe it is the memories the change of pace that brings us there our sense of vacation maybe the smell ...
The spider webs full glistening, shimmering the black bark mulch backdrop like the back of a mirror A saturated membrane ...
The cluster of clover as a child's hands, small, living in miniature the tuft of green the large plant they ...
A row of children standing still, mouths agape a single line, rimming the schoolyard berm at the edge of the ...
A clump of daffodils cups of bright canary atop their swaying stems rising from the gray-brown mulch green and yellow, ...
Daffodils, crocuses, hyacinths green shorts up through the peaty wet mulch, the still-white snow of March; the warming sun drawing ...
Mulch, beside the house By the foundation, under the wet, Decaying broad oak leaves Renewing the soil, as they do ...
Rich loam between my fingers, grip of stems, roots, balls of grass pull up through the rain drenched soil smell ...
Out alone in the winter rain, Intent on giving and taking pain. But never was I far out of sight ...
A full moon shines over the morning frost; the lanes are full of late-fallen leaves; walking across the mulch is ...
Praise the good-tempered summer and the red cardinal that jumps like a hot coal off the track. Praise the heavy ...
I know it's a bad title but I'm giving it to myself as a gift on a day nearly canceled ...
Something strange is creeping across me. La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars Of "I Thought about ...
You have spoken the answer. A child searches far sometimes Into the red dust On a dark rose leaf And ...
Under a sky the color of pea soup she is looking at her work growing away there actively, thickly like ...
This poem has a door, a locked door, and curtains drawn against the day, but at night the lights come ...
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