By Lucille Clifton
won't you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life? i had no model. born in babylonbabylon...
Explore Poems: Gratitude & Apologies
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- By Anne SextonEveryone in me is a bird. I am beating all my wings. They wanted to cut you out but they will not. They...
- By Gerard Manley HopkinsMy own heart let me more have pity on; let Me live to my sad self hereafter kind, Charitable; not live...
- By Robert HaydenSundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands...
- By Suji Kwock KimIf the angle of an eye is all, the slant of hope, the slant of dreaming, according to each life, what...
- By Stanley KunitzNobody in the widow’s household ever celebrated anniversaries. In the secrecy of my room I would not...
- By Wendell BerryI was your rebellious son, do you remember? Sometimes I wonder if you do remember, so complete has your...
- By Anne BradstreetIf ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee. If ever wife was happy...
- By A. F. MoritzWe won’t pretend we’re not hungry for distinction but what can ever distinguish us enough? This country...
- By Lisel MuellerIt lies in our hands in crystals too intricate to decipher It goes into the skillet without being given...
- By Henry Wadsworth LongfellowI shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight...
- By Dean YoungWe cannot push ourselves away from this quiet, even in our sprees of inattention, the departing passengers...
- By Michael S. HarperSex fingers toes in the marketplace near your father's church in Hamlet, North Carolina— witness to ...
- By Marge Piercy1. The dark socket of the year the pit, the cave where the sun lies down and threatens never to rise...
- By Carl DennisAren't you glad at least that the earthworms Under the grass are ignorant, as they eat the earth, Of...
- By William MatthewsMy mother stands at the screen door, laughing. “Out out damn Spot,” she commands our silly dog. I wonder...
- By John MiltonWhat needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,The labor of an age in pilèd stones,Or that his hallowed...
- By Brenda CárdenasYou shout my name from beyond my dreams, beyond the picture window of this Rosarito beach house. Rushing...
- By John Greenleaf WhittierThe autumn-time has come; On woods that dream of bloom, And over purpling vines, The low sun fainter...
- By Henry TimrodI thank you, kind and best beloved friend, With the same thanks one murmurs to a sister, When, for some...