Tubes (Donald Hall Poems)
1'Up, down, good, bad,' saidthe man with the tubesup his nose, ' there's lotsof variety.However, notionsof balance betweenextremes of fortuneare ...
1'Up, down, good, bad,' saidthe man with the tubesup his nose, ' there's lotsof variety.However, notionsof balance betweenextremes of fortuneare ...
In October of the year,he counts potatoes dug from the brown field,counting the seed, countingthe cellar's portion out,and bags the ...
When I walk in my house I see pictures,bought long ago, framed and hanging-de Kooning, Arp, Laurencin, Henry Moore-that I've ...
If he and she do not know each other, and feel confidentthey will not meet again; if he avoids affectionate ...
Pale gold of the walls, goldof the centers of daisies, yellow rosespressing from a clear bowl. All daywe lay on ...
'Even when I danced erectby the Nile's gardenI constructed Necropolis.Ten million fellaheen cellsof my body floated stonesto establish a white ...
It has happened suddenly, by surprise, in an arbor, or while drinking good coffee, after speaking, or before, that I ...
In the mid August, in the second year of my First Polar Expedition, the snow and ice of winter almost ...
Images leap with him from branch to branch. His eyes brighten, his head cocks, he pauses under a green bough, ...
In a week or ten days the snow and ice will melt from Cemetery Road. I'm coming! Don't move! Once ...
High on a slope in New Guinea The Grumman Hellcat lodges among bright vines as thick as arms. In 1943, ...
December twenty-first we gather at the white Church festooned red and green, the tree flashing green-red lights beside the altar. ...
The clock of my days winds down. The cat eats sparrows outside my window. Once, she brought me a small ...
Mount Kearsarge shines with ice; from hemlock branches snow slides onto snow; no stream, creek, or river budges but remains ...
Katie could put her feet behind her head Or do a grand plié, position two, Her suppleness magnificent in bed. ...
A storm was coming, that was why it was dark. The wind was blowing the fronds of the palm trees ...
when my father had been dead a week I woke with his voice in my ear I sat up in ...
Snow fell in the night. At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish mounded softness where the Honda was. Cat fed ...
To grow old is to lose everything. Aging, everybody knows it. Even when we are young, we glimpse it sometimes, ...
All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul sledges of cordwood ...
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