by Deborah Digges My life's calling， setting fires. Here in a hearth so huge I can stand inside and shove the wood around with my bare hands while...
by William Shakespeare My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun； Coral is far more red than her lips' red； If snow be white， why then her br...
by John Keats Ah， what can ail thee， wretched wight， Alone and palely loitering； The sedge is withered from the lake， And no birds sing. Ah， what can ...
by Donald Revell Sha- Dow， As of A meteor At mid- Day： it goes From there. A perfect circle falls Onto white imperfections. （Consider the black road， ...
by Mark Strand 1 When the moon appears and a few wind-stricken barns stand out in the low-domed hills and shine with a light that is veiled and dust-f...
by Linda McCarriston You know that they burned her horse before her. Though it is not recorded， you know that they burned her Percheron first， before ...
by Robert Duncan My mother would be a falconress， And I， her gay falcon treading her wrist， would fly to bring back from the blue of the sky to her， b...
by Mark Jarman My parents have come home laughing From the feast for Robert Burns， late， on foot； They have leaned against graveyard walls， Have bent ...
by Elizabeth Alexander Filene's department store near nineteen-fifty-three： An Aunt Jemima floor display. Red bandanna， Apron holding white rolls ...
by Sylvia Plath I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it—— A sort of walking miracle， my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade， M...