THE SNOW MAN

BY WALLACE STEVENS
One must have a mind of winter


Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;


And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
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My Papa’s Waltz

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy.
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf.
My mother’s countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle.
At every step you missed,
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed.
Still clinging to your shirt.

by Theodore Roethke
Roethke.jpg
Roethke.jpg





THE DONKEY

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Poet, fiction writer, social philosopher, journalist, and critic G.K. Chesterton was born in London. He attended art school, then began a varied
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BY G. K. CHESTERTON

When fishes flew and forests walked And figs grew upon thorn, Some moment when the moon was blood Then surely I was born.
With monstrous head and sickening cry And ears like errant wings, The devil’s walking parody On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth, Of ancient crooked will;Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb, I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour; One far fierce hour and sweet: There was a shout about my ears, And palms before my feet.