Emily Dickinson – How many times these low feet staggered (Poem 238)

How many times these low feet staggered - Only the soldered mouth can tell - Try - can you stir the awful rivet - Try - can you lift the hasps of steel! Stroke the cool forehead - hot so often - Lift - if you care - the listless hair - Handle the adamantine fingers Never a...

Wilfred Owen – Futility

Move him into the sun-- Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields unsown. Always it awoke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the seeds-- Woke, once, the clays...

Anne Spencer – He Said

“Your garden at duskIs the soul of loveBlurred in its beautyAnd softly caressing;I, gently daringThis sweetest confessing,Say your garden at duskIs your soul. My Lov...

Emily Dickinson – It was not Death, for I stood up (Poem 355)

It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down - It was not Night, for all the Bells Put out their Tongues, for Noon. It was not Frost, for on my Flesh I felt Siroccos - crawl - Nor Fire - for just my marble feet Could keep a Chancel, cool - And yet, it tasted,...

Charles Bukowski – Pull A String, A Puppet Moves

each man must realize that it can all disappear very quickly: the cat, the woman, the job, the front tire, the bed, the walls, the room; all our necessities including love, rest on foundations of sand - and any given cause, no matter how unrelated: the death of a boy in Hong...