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15 Cards in this Set
- Front
- Back
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Isn't this your life? That ancient kiss
still burning out your eyes? Isn't this defeat so accurate, the church bell simply seems a pure announcement: ring and no one comes? Don't empty houses ring? |
Degrees of Gray in Philipsburg
Richard Hugo |
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Nothing would give up life:
Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath. |
Root Cellar
Theodore Roethke |
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The rains have passed over for now
and the sun is back, Invisible, but everywhere present, and of a special brightness, like God. |
Mule Team and Poster
Donald Justice |
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There is a pair of glasses
A statue also Casting a long shadow |
Self-Portrait
Charles Wright |
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And I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 Spot while she whispered a song along the keyboard to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing |
The Day Lady Died
Frank O'Hara |
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Ascetic and maternal, you endure:
Kin to oxen, to Saints, to condemned men, With your mute patience, forming The only true likeness of myself. |
My Shoes
Charles Simic |
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Nights I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind, Counting the red stars and those of plum-color. The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue. My hours are married to shadow. |
The Colossus
Sylvia Plath |
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A vulturous boredom pinned me in this tree.
If he were I, he would do what I did. |
The Hanging Man
Sylvia Plath |
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Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our safety. We stand round blank as walls. |
Morning Song
Sylvia Plath |
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Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal |
Daddy
Sylvia Plath |
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I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body Hurts me as the world hurts God. |
Fever 103
Sylvia Plath |
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And I
Am the arrow, The dew that flies Suicidal, at one with the drive Into the red Eye, the cauldron of morning. |
Ariel
Sylvia Plath |
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Dying
Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call. |
Lady Lazarus
Sylvia Plath |
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The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this sort of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag. |
Edge
Sylvia Plath |
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Years later I
Encounter them on the road--- Words dry and riderless, The indefatigable hoof-taps. While From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars Govern a life. |
Words
Sylvia Plath |
