Little by little, the look of the country changes because of the men we admire. You’re going to have to make up your own mind one day about what’s right and wrong.
Author: zdunno03
on this Christmas morning: for family and friends
sometimes in a dream
you all appear
only to fade
come morning
and now
a life apart
separated
by the gulf
between the here and now
and the there and was
land and seas away
on this Christmas morning
from Love by Stendhal
Love has always been the most important business in my life, I should say the only business.
Emily Dickinson poem
I held a Jewel in my fingers—
And went to sleep—
The day was warm, and winds were prosy—
I said “‘Twill keep”—
I woke—and chid my honest fingers,
The Gem was gone—
And now, an Amethyst remembrance
Is all I own—
there you are: for C
there is the sea
and there you are
riding it
plowing through
wave upon wave
as if
your life
depended on it
your shoulders straight
hand on the wheel
captain of your ship
a smile lingering
on your lips
there oh there you
approaching the horizon
The Great Figure by William Carlos Williams
Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red
firetruck
moving
tense
unheeded
to gong clangs
siren howls
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city.
The Thinker by William Carlos Williams
My wife’s new pink slippers
have gay pompons.
There is not a spot or a stain
on their satin toes or their sides.
All night they lie together
under her bed’s edge.
Shivering I catch sight of them
and smile, in the morning.
Later I watch them
descending the stair,
hurrying through the doors
and round the table,
moving stiffly
with a shake of their gay pompons!
And I talk to them
in my secret mind
out of pure happiness.
Full Moon by William Carlos Williams
Blessed moon
noon
of night
that through the dark
bids Love
stay—
curious shapes
awake
to plague me
Is day near
shining girl?
Yes, day!
the warm
the radiant
all fulfilling
day
Complete Destruction by William Carlos Williams
It was an icy day,
We buried the cat,
then took her box
and set match to it
in the back yard.
Those fleas that escaped
earth and fire
died by the cold.
The Hunter by William Carlos Williams
In the flashes and black shadows
of July
the days, locked in each other’s arms,
seem still
so that squirrels and colored birds
go about at ease over
the branches and through the air.
Where will a shoulder split or
a forehead open and victory be?
Nowhere.
Both sides grow older.
And you may be sure
not one leaf will lift itself
from the ground
and become fast to a twig again.
Leonard Durso 