‘Monstre’ Balloon (Richard Harris Barham Poems)
Oh! the balloon, the great balloon!It left Vauxhall one Monday at noon,And every one said we should hear of it ...
Oh! the balloon, the great balloon!It left Vauxhall one Monday at noon,And every one said we should hear of it ...
He has a name which can't be brought Within the sphere of metre;But, as he's Peter by report, I'll trot him out ...
In the place of business luncheswhere a dull sun rises to blind yourtoothpaste brushed eyelids with itsred veins blowin' tracks ...
A fisherman lived on the shore, (It's a habit that fishers affect,) And his life was a hideous bore: He had nothing to ...
In a motion of night they massed nearer my post.I hummed a short blues. When the stars went outI studied ...
goes by at 1:00 a.m. two nights of the week. I canhear the feather whoosh of his machine and seeone ...
"1.WARMING UP THE BOXdelivered on time to persons with city & state line bearing only the words DEATH CITY - ...
When I was at home I was down on my luck,And I earned a poor living by drawing a truck;But ...
Turn your head. Look. The light is turning yellow. The river seems enriched thereby, not to say deepened. Why this ...
428Taking up the fair Ideal,Just to cast her downWhen a fracture-we discover-Or a splintered Crown-Makes the Heavens portable-And the Gods-a ...
Only teaching on Tuesdays, book-worming in pajamas fresh from the washer each morning, I hog a whole house on Boston's ...
Turn your head. Look. The light is turning yellow. The river seems enriched thereby, not to say deepened. Why this ...
Taking up the fair Ideal, Just to cast her down When a fracture -- we discover -- Or a splintered ...
THE PUDDING MASTER OF STANLEY BASIN Tree, snow and rock beginnings, the mountain in back of the lake promised us ...
In a motion of night they massed nearer my post. I hummed a short blues. When the stars went out ...
George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His dinner dishes were undone, ...
I A washing hangs upon the line, but it's not mine. None of the things that I can see belong ...
Somewhere, suspended in facetless space, the vine is spiralling, shown in the distance, with loosened hair: the farther the eye ...
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