Month: August 2018

September Tomatoes – Karina Borowicz


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The whiskey stink of rot has settled in the garden, and a burst of fruit flies rises when I touch the dying tomato plants. Still, the claws of tiny yellow blossoms flail in the air as I pull the vines up by the roots and toss them in the compost. It feels cruel. Something in

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Fire and Ice – Robert Frost


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Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.   This poem can

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Drinking Alone in the Moonlight – Li Po


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Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine, No friends at hand, so I poured alone; I raised my cup to invite the moon, Turned to my shadow, and we became three. Now the moon had never learned about drinking, And my shadow had merely followed my form, But I quickly made friends with the

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Psalm 23 – King David


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The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will

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A Supermarket in California – Allen Ginsberg


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What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.          In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!          What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at

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He is More Than a Hero – Sappho


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He is more than a hero he is a god in my eyes— the man who is allowed to sit beside you — he who listens intimately to the sweet murmur of your voice, the enticing laughter that makes my own heart beat fast. If I meet you suddenly, I can’t speak — my tongue

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Church – Jacqueline Woodson


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On Sundays, the preacher gives everyone a chance to repent their sins. Miss Edna makes me go to church. She wears a bright hat I wear my suit. Babies dress in lace. Girls my age, some pretty, some not so pretty. Old ladies and men nodding. Miss Edna every now and then throwing her hand

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Housekeeping – Natasha Trethewey


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We mourn the broken things, chair legs wrenched from their seats, chipped plates, the threadbare clothes. We work the magic of glue, drive the nails, mend the holes. We save what we can, melt small pieces of soap, gather fallen pecans, keep neck bones for soup. Beating rugs against the house, we watch dust, lit

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The Rainy Day – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


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The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary;

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