by Wallace Stevens Twenty men crossing a bridge， Into a village， Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges， Into twenty villages， Or one man Crossing a s...
by Anne Pierson Wiese St. Nicholas Park in Harlem is one of few spots on the island of Manhattan where you can stand on terraces of rock untouched sin...
by Sandra Alcosser Winter again and we want the same nocturnal rocking， watching cedar spit and sketch its leafy flames， our rooms steamy with garlic ...
by Mónica de la Torre Victor got a real sense of power from making his own raisins. He'd buy pounds and pounds of grapes and leave them to ...
by David Groff Not the poet-though yes， a poet， aspiring. Old. At Big Cup he regards us slickened with testosterone， his eyes entertained. Though his ...
by Edgar Lee Masters I am Minerva， the village poetess， Hooted at， jeered at by the Yahoos of the street For my heavy body， cock-eye， and rolling walk...
by Edwin Arlington Robinson Miniver Cheevy， child of scorn， Grew lean while he assailed the seasons； He wept that he was ever born， And he had reasons...
by Marilyn Nelson Which reminds me of another knock-on-wood memory. I was cycling with a male friend， through a small midwestern town. We came to a 4-...
by Guillaume Apollinaire （Translated by Donald Revell） Under Mirabeau Bridge the river slips away And lovers Must I be reminded Joy came always after ...
by Adrienne Rich Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue， Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls， and， yes， you can feel happy wit...