Holding On (Philip Levine Poems)
Green fingers holding the hillside, mustard whipping in the sea winds, one blood-bright poppy breathing in and out. The odor ...
Green fingers holding the hillside, mustard whipping in the sea winds, one blood-bright poppy breathing in and out. The odor ...
Along the strand stones, busted shells, wood scraps, bottle tops, dimpled and stainless beer cans. Something began here a century ...
When Nellie, my old pussy cat, was still in her prime, she would sit behind me as I wrote, and ...
The first purple wisteria I recall from boyhood hung on a wire outside the windows of the breakfast room next ...
Los Angeles hums a little tune -- trucks down the coast road for Monday Market packed with small faces blinking ...
My brother comes home from work and climbs the stairs to our room. I can hear the bed groan and ...
1 Dawn. First light tearing at the rough tongues of the zinnias, at the leaves of the just born. Today ...
The gates are chained, the barbed-wire fencing stands, An iron authority against the snow, And this grey monument to common ...
A man roams the streets with a basket of freestone peaches hollering, "Peaches, peaches, yellow freestone peaches for sale." My ...
Seven years ago I went into the High Sierras stunned by the desire to die. For hours I stared into ...
The doctor fingers my bruise. "Magnificent," he says, "black at the edges and purple cored." Seated, he spies for clues, ...
The last of day gathers in the yellow parlor and drifts like fine dust across the face of the gilt-framed ...
If you were twenty-seven and had done time for beating our ex-wife and had no dreams you remembered in the ...
Four bright steel crosses, universal joints, plucked out of the burlap sack -- "the heart of the drive train," the ...
"...his poems that no one reads anymore become dust, wind, nothing, like the insolent colored shirt he bought to die ...
I call out a secret name, the name of the angel who guards my sleep, and light grows in the ...
A solitary apartment house, the last one before the boulevard ends and a dusty road winds its slow way out ...
She wakens early remembering her father rising in the dark lighting the stove with a match scraped on the floor. ...
The sun came up before breakfast, perfectly round and yellow, and we dressed in the soft light and shook out ...
A good man is seized by the police and spirited away. Months later someone brags that he shot him once ...
Pond snipe, bleached pine, rue weed, wart -- I walk by sedge and brown river rot to where the old ...
Since I don't know who will be reading this or even if it will be read, I must invent someone ...
Shake out my pockets! Harken to the call Of that calm voice that makes no sound at all! Take of ...
Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter, Out of black bean and wet slate bread, Out of the acids ...
Take this quiet woman, she has been standing before a polishing wheel for over three hours, and she lacks twenty ...
Words go on travelling from voice to voice while the phones are still and the wires hum in the cold. ...
THE DREAM This has nothing to do with war or the end of the world. She dreams there are gray ...
3-foot blue cannisters of nitro along a conveyor belt, slow fish speaking the language of silence. On the roof, I ...
Someone was calling someone; now they've stopped. Beyond the glass the rose vines quiver as in a light wind, but ...
after Juan Ramon A child wakens in a cold apartment. The windows are frosted. Outside he hears words rising from ...
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