By Ada Limón
On my way to the fertility clinic,
I pass five dead animals.
First a raccoon with all four paws…
I pass five dead animals.
First a raccoon with all four paws…
Explore Poems: Living
Showing 1-20 of 9,168 poems
- By Victoria Adukwei Bulley& even when we said we were alone there was [ ] noise on the radio & there was [ ] noise in the car & there was [ ] noise all over the...
- By Anders Carlson-WeeI know you’re hungry for it.
More money. More news. Desperate
for any laurel that parades you
as happier… - By Molly FiskYesterday I was so lonely
I could barely walk,
my friend being mobbed
by her grandchildren
as we made… - By Jane HirshfieldI sat under shelter in downpours—
the chair was light, it could have been easily moved.
I wept into tissues… - By Jane HirshfieldMy life asks me a question.
I suggest a better question,
one I like more the sound of,
with more pleasing… - By SapphoTranslated By Anne CarsonI don't know what to do two states of mind in me
- By Andrew FrisardiPRIMEAt dawn, the shapes of cypresses in fog
Were fingers pointing up from graves, as if what's born… - By Russell AtkinsThe probability in the yard:
The rodent keeps the cat close by;
The cat would sharp at the bird;
The… - By William OlsenObservation isn’t serious play. It is living serious. Same heron. It’s used to us, we are as twilight…
- By Karl KnightsThe zoo is tough terrain; hilly.
I wheel as fast as I can —
then Mum shouts ‘Keep up!’
I stop. ‘Hand me… - By Li-Young LeeWhen the big clock at the train station stopped,
the leaves kept falling,
the trains kept running,
my mother… - By Felicia Dorothea HemansSee’st thou yon gray gleaming hall,
Where the deep elm-shadows fall?
Voices that have left the earth
… - By Kemi AlabiI used to pray to a man-faced god.
Kept his whip beneath my bed.
Set alarms for daybreak lashings.
Pressed white cotton to the flay.
Made flags of the bloodsoak.
Raised them from my window.
Called this worship.
Dreamt heaven a jury small as a county
where nobody... - By Tilsa OttaUn club nocturno no hace un verano
Mas creo en el perreo
Eterno recreo
En la agitación de la masa crítica… - By Tilsa OttaTranslated By Farid MatukA nightclub doesn’t make a summer
I believe more in perreo
Play everlasting
In the agitation of a critical… - By William Butler Yeats'Because I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,'
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
'Not to die on the straw at home,
Those hands to close the eyes,
That is all I ask, my dear,
From the old... - By William Butler YeatsThe light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears
Blossom from the summer's wreath;
The older is condemned to death,
Pardoned, drags out lonely years
Conspiring among the ignorant.
I know not... - By William Butler YeatsI
What shall I do with this absurdity —
O heart, O troubled heart — this caricature,
Decrepit age that... - By William Butler YeatsI
I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last being but a broken man
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals...