John (Edgar Bowers Poems)
Before he wrote a poem, he learned the measureThat living in the future gives a farm—Propinquity of mules and cows, ...
Before he wrote a poem, he learned the measureThat living in the future gives a farm—Propinquity of mules and cows, ...
You have become a forge of snow-white fire,A crucible of molten steel, O France!Your sons are stars who cluster to ...
Sphinx, down whose rugged face The sliding centuries their furrows cleave By sun and frost and cloud-burst; scarce ...
Gentlemen! a politician,One who values his position,Stands, with easy confidence,Here before you on the fence.For he knows full well, good ...
What splendour of imperial station man,The Tree of Life, may reach when, rooted fast,His branching stem points way to upper ...
We are all captured beasts, And we howl - as we might. We can't open the doors, For the doors ...
What was is . . . since 1930; the boys in my old gang are senior partners. They start up ...
What makes these words so distinct, so special, so unique, that they must be in quotes, that each, in their ...
We heard a new shepherd in the quiet of the congregation listening, hanging on each new word our attention held ...
The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to the ocean-- Holding the curve of one position, ...
Tell as a Marksman -- were forgotten Tell -- this Day endures Ruddy as that coeval Apple The Tradition bears ...
Since all, that beat about in Nature's range, Or veer or vanish ; why should'st thou remain The only constant ...
The Beaver's Lesson They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; They pursued it with forks and hope; ...
Dedication Inscribed to a dear Child: in memory of golden summer hours and whispers of a summer sea. Girt with ...
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips Where bones idle under years of fatback And lima ...
I have longed to move away From the hissing of the spent lie And the old terrors' continual cry Growing ...
And they have drown'd thee then at last! poor Phillis! The burthen of old age was heavy on thee. And ...
My swirling wants. Your frozen lips. The grammar turned and attacked me. Themes, written under duress. Emptiness of the notations. ...
In flat America, in Chicago, Graceland cemetery on the German North Side. Forty feet of Corinthian candle celebrate Pullman embedded ...
to Robert Hass and in memory of Elliot Gilbert Slow dulcimer, gavotte and bow, in autumn, Bashõ and his friends ...
Religions are poems. They concert our daylight and dreaming mind, our emotions, instinct, breath and native gesture into the only ...
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