The Virginby William Wordworth Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrostWith the least shade of thought to sin allied.Woman! above all women glorified,Our tainted nature’s solitary boast;Purer than foam on central
The War After the War by Debora Gregor for Greg Greger I Where were the neighbors? Out of town?In my pajamas, I sat at my father’s feetin front of their
Death, be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrowDie not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou
…I thought I would post my friend Jonathan Potter’s poem “Seattle” in honor of My Home Town. You can find more of his excellent writing here.
Brass Spittoons BY LANGSTON HUGHES Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.Clean the spittoons.The steam in hotel kitchens,And the smoke in hotel lobbies,And the slime in hotel spittoons:Part of my life. Hey, boy! A
O Holy Ghost, whose temple IAm, but of mud walls and condensed dust,And being sacrilegiouslyHalf wasted with youth’s fires, of pride and lustMust with new storms be weather-beat;Double in my heart Thy
Salute the last and everlasting day, Joy at th’ uprising of this Sun, and Son, Ye whose true tears, or tribulation Have purely wash’d, or burnt your drossy clay. Behold, the Highest, parting hence
The last of my series of poems for the Easter Season. Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast:God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips.You striped in secret with breath-taking
Another in a series of poems for the Easter Season. Death, be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;For those whom thou think’st
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