Poems begining by &
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50-50
© Langston Hughes
Im all alone in this world, she said,
Aint got nobody to share my bed,
Aint got nobody to hold my hand
The truth of the matters
I aint got no man.
1991-ii
© Wendell Berry
The ewes crowd to the mangers;
Their bellies widen, sag;
Their udders tighten. Soon
The little voices cry
1991-i
© Wendell Berry
The year begins with war.
Our bombs fall day and night,
Hour after hour, by death
Abroad appeasing wrath,
1805
© Robert Graves
At Viscount Nelsons lavish funeral,
While the mob milled and yelled about St Pauls,
A General chatted with an Admiral:
4:02 p.m.
© Suheir Hammad
poem supposed to be about
one minute and the lives of three women in it
writing it and up
the block a woman killed
by her husband
1915
© Robert Graves
Ive watched the Seasons passing slow, so slow,
In the fields between La Bass?e and Bethune;
Primroses and the first warm day of Spring,
Red poppy floods of June,
1er janvier
© Victor Marie Hugo
Enfant, on vous dira plus tard que le grand-père
Vous adorait; qu'il fit de son mieux sur la terre,
45 Mercy Street
© Anne Sexton
In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
1492
© Emma Lazarus
Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate,
Didst weep when Spain cast forth with flaming sword,
30 Cents, Two Transfers, Love
© Richard Brautigan
Thinking hard about you
I got on the bus
and paid 30 cents car fare
and asked the driver for two transfers
15%
© Richard Brautigan
she tries to get things
out of men
that she can't get
because she's not
15% prettier
-2
© Richard Brautigan
Everybody wants to go to bed
with everybody else, they're
lined up for blocks, so I'll
go to bed with you. They won't
miss us.
1887
© Alfred Edward Housman
From Clee to heaven the beacon burns,
The shires have seen it plain,
From north and south the sign returns
And beacons burn again.
1777
© Amy Lowell
I
The Trumpet-Vine Arbour
The throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are
wide open,
8 Fragments For Kurt Cobain
© Jim Carroll
1/
Genius is not a generous thing
In return it charges more interest than any amount of royalties can cover
And it resents fame
With bitter vengeance
1926
© Weldon Kees
The porchlight coming on again,
Early November, the dead leaves
Raked in piles, the wicker swing
Creaking. Across the lots
A phonograph is playing Ja-Da.
