The Bronco (Henry Herbert Knibbs Poems)
The bronco's mighty wild and tough,And full of outdoor feelin's:His feet are quick, his ways are rough,He's careless in his ...
The bronco's mighty wild and tough,And full of outdoor feelin's:His feet are quick, his ways are rough,He's careless in his ...
November? 'tis a summer's day! For tropic airs are blowing As soft as whispered roundelay From unseen lips that seem to say To feathered ...
It is always the dispossessed-someone driving a huge rusted Dodgethat's burning oil, and must costtwenty-five dollars to fill.Today before seven ...
Before the wide-mouthed hearth I sit, While rudely roars the wind outdoor;Upon the walls strange shadows flit Or dervish-like dance on the ...
Oh the dear summer evening! How the air is mellow with the delicate breath of flowers and wafts of hay ...
Everybody knows me, Dr. Goosegrease, M.D. All the best paying patients, I've got 'em. Harley Street's my abode, No. 6 ...
When will some new Australian poet riseTo all the height and glory of his theme?Nor on the sombre side for ...
Higher than the handsomest hotel The lucent comb shows up for miles, but see, All round it close-ribbed streets rise ...
Talking with my beloved in New York I stood at the outdoor public telephone in Mexican sunlight, in my purple ...
Walking beside me offering me a bulletin a welcome as I entered in entering with them the saints resting here ...
As the sun set, the air heavy a presence with me in the silence of the chapel the wooden benches, ...
Sensing their spirits in this hallowed space the hallowed ground I walked on feeling their warm embrace The stillness of ...
The rough hewn cross benches for the congregation ashes of the faithful lying at our feet The granite pieces part ...
Something about standing there in their presence, gathered watching as we walked into the sanctuary, outdoors The parishioners of old ...
Entering the small sanctuary the dome of the roof the bright sun shining within the sacred space Feeling the elders ...
Bright dying sun of day above the tree line light still falling on the cross calling me to come and ...
Buckets and buckets of sap, culled from willing maples pouring into the vat the cauldron atop the old, crumbling outdoor ...
I let myself in at the kitchen door. "It's you," she said. "I can't get up. Forgive me Not answering ...
Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it And spills the upper boulder in ...
I What's become of Waring Since he gave us all the slip, Chose land-travel or seafaring, Boots and chest, or ...
For Jeremy Reed Rejection doesn't lead me to dejection But to inspiration via irritation Or at least to a bit ...
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