Are You Drinking? (Charles Bukowski Poem)
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook out again I write from the bed as I did last year. will ...
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook out again I write from the bed as I did last year. will ...
Neruda's Hat On a day when weather stole every breeze, Pablo told her he kept bits of his poems tucked ...
I imagine Nice and topless beaches, women smoking and reading novels in the sun. I pretend I am comfortable undressing ...
As a girl, she hated the grain of anything on her fins. Now she is part fire ant, part centipede. ...
After the movie, when the lights come up, He takes her powdered hand behind the wings; She, all in yellow, ...
As evening falls, The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving, ...
The half-shut doors through which we heard that music Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence. The stars whirl ...
1 Senlin sat before us and we heard him. He smoked his pipe before us and we saw him. Was ...
1 Senlin sits before us, and we see him. He smokes his pipe before us, and we hear him. Is ...
1 Senlin sits before us, and we see him. He smokes his pipe before us, and we hear him. Is ...
from Senlin: A Biography It is moonlight. Alone in the silence I ascend my stairs once more, While waves, remote ...
Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind announces autumn, and the equinox rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon. ...
I. (Bread and Music) Music I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was ...
from Senlin: A Biography It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters ...
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good ...
Down on the shore, on the sunny shore! Where the salt smell cheers the land; Where the tide moves bright ...
Adieu to Belashanny! where I was bred and born; Go where I may, I'll think of you, as sure as ...
A quay with vessels moored Thomas To India! Yea, here I may take ship; From here the courses go over ...
Long ago in a poultry yard One dull November morn, Beneath a motherly soft wing A little goose was born. ...
Oh! a bare, brown rock Stood up in the sea, The waves at its feet Dancing merrily. A little bubble ...
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura ch? la diritta via era smarrita . ...
Per me si va ne la citt? dolente, per me si va ne l'etterno dolore, per me si va tra ...
As Parmigianino did it, the right hand Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer And swerving easily away, as ...
Something strange is creeping across me. La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars Of "I Thought about ...
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
Coldly, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade ...
Yes! in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal ...
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from ...
A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of ...
A region desolate and wild. Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, ...
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