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On my volcano grows the grass 
by Emily Dickinson

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127. on my volcano grows the grass. dickinson

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127. "On my volcano grows the grass." Part Five: The Single Hound. Dickinson, Emily. 1924. Complete Poems

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127. "On my volcano grows the grass." Dickinson, Emily. 1924. Complete Poems

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I would not paint — a picture — (348) by Emily Dickinson

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I would not paint - a picture - (348) by Emily Dickinson

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E.E Cummings 1940

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('If you can't eat you got to...') by E. E. Cummings

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August 1940 | Kenneth Burke, Paul Claudel, E. Cummings, Walter de La Mare, Robert Francis, Troy Garrison, Carl Grabo, James Hearst, Nigel Heseltine, Christopher La Farge, C. MacIntyre, C. Millspaugh, Herman Salinger, Genevieve Taggard, Babette Deutsch, Richard Eberhart, Elizabeth Lindsay, Harry Roskolenko, Ruth Stephan, Margaret Walker, David Wilson

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in Songfest, Bernstein

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I am in love with the laughing sickness it would do me a lot of good if I had it - I have worn the splendid gowns of Sudan, carried the magnificent halivas of Boudodin Bros. kissed the singing Fatimas of the pimp of Aden, wrote glorious psalms in Hakhaliba's cafe, but I've never had the laughing sickness, so what good am I?

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Songfest, Bernstein

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To what you said, passionately clasping my hand, this is my answer: Though you have strayed hither, for my sake, you can never belong to me, Nor I to you, Behold the customary loves and friendships the cold guards l am that rough and simple person l am he who kisses his comrade lightly on the lips at parting, And l am one who is kissed in return, I introduce that new American salute Behold love choked, correct, polite, always suspicious Behold the received models of the parlors - What are they to me?

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by Walt Whitman

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by Langston Hughes

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I dreamed that you were a bee
That one day gaily flew along,
You came across the hedge to me,
And sang a soft, love-burdened song.
You brushed my petals with a kiss,
I woke to gladness with a start,
And yielded up to you in bliss
The treasured fragrance of my heart;
And then I knew
That I had waited there for you.

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I dreamed that you were a beeThat one day gaily flew along, You came across the hedge to me, And sang a soft, love-burdened song. You brushed my petals with a kiss, I woke to gladness with a start, And yielded up to you in bliss The treasured fragrance of my heart; And then I knew That I had waited there for you.

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written for the Film Paterson by Jim Jarmush

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The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams 

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The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams 

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Spring and All, 1923

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If when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,-
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely,
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,-

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

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If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,- if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: "I am lonely, lonely, I was born to be lonely, I am best so!"

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Sailing Home From Rapallo by Robert Lowell

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Sailing Home From Rapallo by Robert Lowell

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Life Studies, 1959

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Sailing Home from Rapallo by Robert Lowell

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The Will to Change, 1968-70

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Thinking of Caroline Herschel (1750-1848)
astronomer, sister of William; and others.

A woman in the shape of a monster

a monster in the shape of a woman

the skies are full of them

a woman 'in the snow

among the Clocks and instruments

or measuring the ground with poles'

in her 98 years to discover

levitating into the night sky

riding the polished lenses

doing penance for impetuousness

in those spaces of the mind

'virile, precise and absolutely certain'

from the mad webs of Uranusborg

every impulse of light exploding

'Let me not seem to have lived in vain'

the light that shrivels a mountain

heart sweating through my body

I am bombarded yet I stand

I have been standing all my life in the

direct path of a battery of signals

the most accurately transmitted most

untranslatable language in the universe

I am a galactic cloud so deep so invo-

luted that a light wave could take 15

years to travel through me And has

taken I am an instrument in the shape

of a woman trying to translate pulsations

into images for the relief of the body

and the reconstruction of the mind.

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Planetarium by Adrienne Rich | Poetry Foundation

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Thinking of Caroline Herschel (1750-1848) astronomer, sister of William; and others.

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Geography III, 1976

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The art of losing isn't hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident

the art of losing's not too hard to master

though it may look like ( Write it!) like disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop, "One Art" from The Complete Poems 1926-1979. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel. Used by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC, http://us.macmillan.com/fsg. All rights reserved.

Caution: Users are warned that this work is protected under copyright laws and downloading is strictly prohibited. The right to reproduce or transfer the work via any medium must be secured with Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC.

Source: The Complete Poems 1926-1979 (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1983)

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One Art by Elizabeth Bishop | Poetry Foundation