Loot (Rudyard Kipling Poem)
If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back, If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line, If ...
If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back, If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line, If ...
If, in an odd angle of the hutment, A puppy laps the water from a can Of flowers, and the ...
Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot ...
The world, all that I see in winter's grip, held tight the howling winds, the blowing snow all I see ...
Within our houses the world around shut down nature bringing forth its wrath we are hunkered down the snow piling ...
Here on the slopes of hills, facing the dusk and the cannon of time Close to the gardens of broken ...
"It was wrong to do this," said the angel. "You should live like a flower, Holding malice like a puppy, ...
It was a storefront for a small-time numbers runner, pretending to be some sort of grocery. Coffeemakers and Bustello cans ...
28 July Calmly, while sat up friendlies & made noise delight fuller than he can ready sing or studiously say, ...
I. The morn when first it thunders in March, The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say: As ...
On the unbreathing sides of hills they play, a specklike girl and boy, alone, but near a specklike house. The ...
If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would you say "No" to me if I ...
Frau Doktor, Mama Brundig, take out your contacts, remove your wig. I write for you. I entertain. But frogs come ...
Here, in the room of my life the objects keep changing. Ashtrays to cry into, the suffering brother of the ...
What is death, I ask. What is life, you ask. I give them both my buttocks, my two wheels rolling ...
My lead dog Mike was like a bear; I reckon he was grizzly bred, For when he reared up in ...
Five hours, (and who can do it less in?) By haughty Celia spent in dressing; The goddess from her chamber ...
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said, Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The dog-star ...
Such glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes, Dear little friend of mine, I never knew. All-innocent are you, and ...
Bix to Buxtehude to Boulez, The little white dog on the Victor label Listens long and hard as he is ...
I was miserable, of course, for I was seventeen and so I swung into action and wrote a poem and ...
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