By Lucille Clifton
won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylonbabylon…
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylonbabylon…
Explore Poems: Gratitude & Apologies
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- By Anne SextonEveryone in me is a bird.
I am beating all my wings.
They wanted to cut you out
but they will not.… - By Gerard Manley HopkinsMy own heart let me more have pity on; let
Me live to my sad self hereafter kind,
Charitable; not live… - By Robert HaydenSundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands… - By Suji Kwock KimIf the angle of an eye is all,
the slant of hope, the slant of dreaming, according to each life,
what… - By Stanley KunitzNobody in the widow’s household
ever celebrated anniversaries.
In the secrecy of my room
I would not… - By Wendell BerryI was your rebellious son,
do you remember? Sometimes
I wonder if you do remember,
so complete has your… - By Anne BradstreetIf ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy… - By A. F. MoritzWe won’t pretend we’re not hungry for distinction
but what can ever distinguish us enough?
This country… - By Lisel MuellerIt lies in our hands in crystals
too intricate to decipher
It goes into the skillet
without being given… - By Henry Wadsworth LongfellowI shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight… - By Dean YoungWe cannot push ourselves away
from this quiet, even in our sprees
of inattention, the departing passengers… - By Michael S. HarperSex fingers toes
in the marketplace
near your father's church
in Hamlet, North Carolina—
witness to … - By Marge Piercy1.
The dark socket of the year
the pit, the cave where the sun lies down
and threatens never to rise… - By Carl DennisAren't you glad at least that the earthworms
Under the grass are ignorant, as they eat the earth,
Of… - By William MatthewsMy mother stands at the screen door, laughing.
“Out out damn Spot,” she commands our silly dog.
I … - By John MiltonWhat needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,
The labor of an age in pilèd stones,
Or that his hallowed… - By Brenda CárdenasYou shout my name
from beyond my dreams,
beyond the picture window
of this Rosarito beach house.
Rushing… - By John Greenleaf WhittierThe autumn-time has come;
On woods that dream of bloom,
And over purpling vines,
The low sun fainter… - By Henry TimrodI thank you, kind and best beloved friend,
With the same thanks one murmurs to a sister,
When, for some…