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The Footman: An Epistle to my Friend Mr. Wright

© Dodsley Robert

Dear FRIEND,Since I am now at leisure,And in the Country taking Pleasure,If it be worth your while to hearA silly Footman's Business there,I'll try to tell, in easy Rhyme,How I in London spend my Time

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To My Spinning-Wheel

© Dixon Charlotte Eliza

I love thee well my little wheel,And why I love thee I can tell:When tir'd of folly, shew and noise,Of feeling griefs, and feigning joys,Of visiting, and company,And all that's called society,I sought in solitude and peace,To sooth a mind too ill at ease,Thou kindly then thy aid didst lend,I found in thee almost a friend

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That First Year

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

i wrote poems mainly that first year,picking garbage, doing dishes, humblingmyself among men who doubted me for having gottenthe world's publicity; what did i want with them, anyway?but after a year they saw my touch and needed an armaround them; men without women can use an italiannow and again to laugh christ off the cross and make him dance;make the devil look a bit foolish

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The Priest

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

i am not really there

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Flying Deeper into the Century

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

Flying deeper into the centuryis exhilarating, the faces of loved ones eaten outslowly, the panhandles of flesh warding offthe air, the smiling plots

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Cowboy on Horse in Desert

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

Little cowboy, painted ona paint-by-numbers picturefound in a junk shop

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America

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

The Tropic of Capricorn someone hadleft on the seat beside me, somewhere betweenUtica and Albany;

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Cooper's Hill (1655)

© Sir John Denham

Sure there are poets which did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, we therefore may supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those

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Cooper's Hill (1642)

© Sir John Denham

Sure we have poets that did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, and therefore I supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those

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The Collier's Wife

© William Henry Davies

The collier's wife had four tall sons Brought from the pit's mouth dead, And crushed from foot to head;When others brought her husband home,Had five dead bodies in her room.

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Forty Below

© Dafoe Christopher

From this valley we hope to be going,When at last we can travel alone,For we're sick of the snow and the dust storms,In Toronto we'll find a new home.

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VillainElle

© Crosbie Lynn

for Aileen Wuornos

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Skirt, My Pretty Name

© Crosbie Lynn

and the space between my name and myself grows larger until... .- Rosalie Sings Alone

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Carrie Leigh's Hugh Hefner Haikus

© Crosbie Lynn

Hef brings me flowerstiger lilies, ochre veineddowncast, sleek black cups

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Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story

© Isabella Valancy Crawford

Part IA silver ring that he had beaten outFrom that same sacred coin--first well-priz'd wageFor boyish labour, kept thro' many years

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Fogyism

© Cox Ida

Why do people believe in some old signs?Why do people believe in some old signs?To hear a hoodoo holler, someone is surely dyin'

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The Task: from Book IV: The Winter Evening

© William Cowper

Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge,That with its wearisome but needful lengthBestrides the wintry flood, in which the moonSees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,He comes, the herald of a noisy world,With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;News from all nations lumb'ring at his back