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4 days ago · Metaphors. A melon strolling on two tendrils. O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This loaf's big with its yeasty rising. Money 's new-minted in this fat purse. I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf. Boarded the train there's no getting off. I'm a riddle in nine syllables, An elephant, a ponderous house, A melon strolling on two tendrils. O red ...
2 days ago · The Death Of Myth-making. Two virtues ride, by stallion, by nag, To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern-jawed Reason, squat Common Sense, One courting doctors of all sorts, One, housewives and shopkeepers. The trees are lopped, the poodles trim, The laborer's nails pared level. Since those two civil servants set.
Jun 9, 2024 · Settling and stirring like blown paper. Or the hands of an invalid. The wan. Sun manages to strike such tin glints. From the linked ponds that my eyes wince. And brim; the city melts like sugar. A crocodile of small girls. Knotting and stopping, ill-assorted, in blue uniforms, Opens to swallow me.
Jun 6, 2024 · Watercolor Of Grantchester Meadows. There, spring lambs jam the sheepfold. In air. Stilled, silvered as water in a glass. Nothing is big or far. The small shrew chitters from its wilderness. Of grassheads and is heard. Each thumb-sized bird. Fits nimble-winged in thickets, and of good color.
6 days ago · The stopped horse on his chromium pole. Stares through us; his hooves chew the breeze. Your shirt of crisp linen. Bloats like a spinnaker. Hat brims. Deflect the watery dazzle; the people idle. As if in hospital. I can smell the salt, all right. At our feet, the weed-mustachioed sea.
Jun 13, 2024 · Sylvia Plath (1932 – 1963) was a gifted writer of poetry who ended her life at the age of thirty. Many of the truths behind her final years were exposed after her death, discovered in letters revealing the dark secrets of her tragic relationship with Ted Hughes. Attractive, smart, and ambitious, she seemed to have what it took to succeed.
Jun 12, 2024 · Waking In Winter. I can taste the tin of the sky -- the real tin thing. Winter dawn is the color of metal, The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves. All night I have dreamed of destruction, annihilations --. An assembly-line of cut throats, and you and I.
