A Song Of Love (James Ephraim McGirt Poems)
A song I sing a blessing so divine,Which all can feel yet no one can define;It comes like hallowed glory ...
A song I sing a blessing so divine,Which all can feel yet no one can define;It comes like hallowed glory ...
"THE blackbird's in the briar,The seagull's on the ground-They are nests, and they're more than nests," he said,"They are tokens ...
Praise whoever raised these polesfor some to swing while others watch.A boy pumps, then arcs his back.The shapely girl shoves ...
Becos a crook done in a prince, an' narked an Emperor, An' struck a light that set the world aflame;Becos ...
Ar! Gimme fights wiv foeman I kin see, To upper-cut an' wallop on the jor.Life in a burrer ain't no ...
Jist to intraj'uice me cobber, an 'is name is Ginger Mick -A rorty boy, a naughty boy, wiv rude impressions ...
Ole Mother Moon 'oo yanks 'er beamin' dile Acrost the sky when we've grown sick o' day,She's like some fat ...
'E sez to me, "Wot's orl this flamin' war? The papers torks uv nothin' else but scraps.An'wot's ole England got ...
On one fine but fatal morning in the early Eocene, Lo, a brawny Bloke set out to dig a hole:First ...
Ar, these is 'appy days! An' 'ow they've flown - Flown like the smoke of some inchanted fag;Since dear Doreen, ...
Once an anthropoidal ape, Hairy, savage, strange of shape,On a day that was excessively B.C., In a forest damp ...
The sun burns hotly thro' the gumsAs down the road old Rogan comes - The hatter from the lonely ...
Ships — they're all right, said Murphy, "for all you hear folks tell.There some shoves their bows under in a ...
The ole train puffs in once a day On the ole Gunn's Gully line;In a lazy, leisurely kind o' way ...
Burning, he walks in the stream of flickering letters, clarinets, machines throbbing quicker than the heart, lopped-off heads, silk canvases, ...
Corpse AThey brought her in, a shattered smallCocoon,With a little bruised body likeA startled moon;And all the subtle symphonies of ...
I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was, That 'Un I got so slick. I couldn't see 'is face because The ...
To Certain Poets About to Die TAKE your fill of intimate remorse, perfumed sorrow, Over the dead child of a ...
Children running into izba, Calling father, dripping sweat: "Daddy, daddy! come -- there is a Deadman caught inside our net." ...
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it---- A sort of walking miracle, my skin ...
Burning, he walks in the stream of flickering letters, clarinets, machines throbbing quicker than the heart, lopped-off heads, silk canvases, ...
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