transformations (Rg Gregory Poem)
(service resettlement courses at studio fronceri - west wales) and the swords came in their varying degrees of shininess and ...
(service resettlement courses at studio fronceri - west wales) and the swords came in their varying degrees of shininess and ...
When I die I don't care what happens to my body throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East ...
Joining the melody, swaying in the pew on the night, silent night the holy night of the birth Advent, come ...
The words of the poetry the love, given by God like the inner workings of the song the story of ...
the dance begun the potter and the clay spinning of the potter's wheel moving together, the clay giving to the ...
From the ground the soil, lifeless pulling up the clay adding water, the potter's touch the wheel turning guiding the ...
the potter moving, his hands, body drawing the clay pulling the clay from the inert earth life in the dance ...
Controlled chaos Sharp angles Ripped colors Shapes alternating Sharp and subdued Tragedy And rage Pulled onto page Within a Continuous ...
Liner Notes - (From Love Is A Dog From Hell) Emotional Idiocy is obviously a theme close to my heart ...
She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness as she paused just inside the double glass doors to survey the room, ...
In most self-portraits it is the face that dominates: Cezanne is a pair of eyes swimming in brushstrokes, Van Gogh ...
On the great walls of ancient cloisters were nailed Murals displaying Truth the saint, Whose effect, reheating the pious entrails ...
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura ch? la diritta via era smarrita . ...
As Parmigianino did it, the right hand Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer And swerving easily away, as ...
beside me in this garden are huge and daisy-like (why not? are not oxeye daisies a chrysanthemum?), shrubby and thick-stalked, ...
Do you remember once, in Paris of glad faces, The night we wandered off under the third moon's rays And, ...
You've heard of Julot the apache, and Gigolette, his mome. . . . Montmartre was their hunting-ground, but Belville was ...
She had thought the studio would keep itself; no dust upon the furniture of love. Half heresy, to wish the ...
The autumn feels slowed down, summer still holds on here, even the light seems to last longer than it should ...
--The Carpathian Frontier, October, 1968 --for my brother Once, in a foreign country, I was suddenly ill. I was driving ...
Some days I catch a rhythm, almost a song in my own breath. I'm alone here in Brooklyn Heights, late ...
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