Smells of Creation (Raymond A. Foss Poem)
Freshly tilled soil, rot on the forest floor chocolate bubbling on the stove Gardenias, violets, garlic breath Sulphur of the ...
Freshly tilled soil, rot on the forest floor chocolate bubbling on the stove Gardenias, violets, garlic breath Sulphur of the ...
Smooth glass, clear, or in the prism's spectrum Cool of polished marble in Washington's monuments smooth of a baby's skin, ...
The tart had been melted before it sat solid in the warmer on the back of the stove She put ...
Black, black buckles like grates on the front of a pot-bellied stove Clumpy black buckle boots worn over shoes by ...
Smell the bold colors, Rich in my nostrils, Illuminated on the branches before me as I drive. Low sunlight piercing ...
Prate, ye who will, of so-called charms you find across the sea-- The land of stoves and sunshine is good ...
Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice. Some folks called him Sooner, ...
I'd not complain of Sister Jane, for she was good and kind, Combining with rare comeliness distinctive gifts of mind; ...
Builder, in building the little house, In every way you may please yourself; But please please me in the kitchen ...
I've known ere now an interfering branch Of alder catch my lifted ax behind me. But that was in the ...
I came an errand one cloud-blowing evening To a slab-built, black-paper-covered house Of one room and one window and one ...
SHE stood against the kitchen sink, and looked Over the sink out through a dusty window At weeds the water ...
Brown lived at such a lofty farm That everyone for miles could see His lantern when he did his chores ...
All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on ...
Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step, She ran on ...
The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot "Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et ...
Over the terminal, the arms and chest of the god brightened by snow. Formerly mercury, formerly silver, surface yellowed by ...
As a child I played in the same frosty fields barefoot as my no lesser loved classmates, whom we challenged ...
We were born of tea, our mum could drink fourteen cups a day, an awesome feat to try to rationalise, ...
Just over the horizon a great machine of death is roaring and rearing. One can hear it always. Earthquake, starvation, ...
The bells of waiting Advent ring, The Tortoise stove is lit again And lamp-oil light across the night Has caught ...
I threw my arms about those shoulders, glancing at what emerged behind that back, and saw a chair pushed slightly ...
A web of sewer, pipe, and wire connects each house to the others. In 206 a dog sleeps by the ...
THE HUNCHBACK TROUT The creek was made narrow by little green trees that grew too close together. The creek was ...
THE PUDDING MASTER OF STANLEY BASIN Tree, snow and rock beginnings, the mountain in back of the lake promised us ...
A RETURN TO THE COVER OF THIS BOOK Dear Trout Fishing in America: I met your friend Fritz in Washington ...
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords. I once read something ...
I My hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have ...
Half squatter, half tenant (no rent)- a sort of inheritance; white, in your thirties now, and supposed to supply me ...
For John Malcolm Brinnin and Bill Read: Duxbury It was cold and windy, scarcely the day to take a walk ...
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