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Hace 5 días · Through the coal-dark, underground — Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron In the factories, round and round. “For all day, the wheels are droning, turning, — Their wind comes in our faces, — Till our hearts turn, — our heads, with pulses burning, And the walls turn in their places Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling —
Hace 1 día · With binocular vision. Wrapped in a garland of bramble. Call me a good boy and spit in my hole. Tell me death is romantic. And you're a miracle. My lips taste like martini. Begging the Devil in the streets. Drinking the red night like. Sex crying on the wall.
Hace 5 días · Mending Wall. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen -ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair. Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
Hace 5 días · Poetry, he says, aids in the attainment of extreme states of mind “to the utmost point of sublimity or pathos” and, finally, lends an air of fiction and frisson to the arid realm of daily life. Combining our senses and our sensibilities, poetic reality thus leads us to project our truths onto the world.
Hace 2 días · Courtesy of the Poetry Foundation In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid ...
Hace 2 días · POEM- MENDING WALL BY ROBERT FROST
Hace 3 días · The earthen wall vibrates more strongly; it quivers; crumbs of earth fall as if a battering ram is striking the wall, and suddenly, in a final collapse, his earth-stained snout and dirty fur appear, the enemy bursts into the space while Nyctalette, driven by instinct, dashes into the first available tunnel and vanishes into the darkness. III.
