Hi guys, I'm on a bit on an Animorphs kick at the moment and I'm looking for poems about hawks, especially red-tails. Thank you! In return, an unrelated poem:
Wolf - Alessandra Lynch
My owl was a deadened petal. My moon a leadweight hat.
Sinewy and sidelong, I slowly circled, tail bruised yellow, a mouthful of splinters, and skittery gunshy eyes
Request!: My Google-fu is not cut out right now. I'm looking for a specific poem. Anyone recognize it? It's a love poem. There's an archaeological dig or something, and the speaker is observing someone pick up a piece of ceramic which then crumbles. The speaker thinks that the ceramic piece, being held by the love interest, thought it was a flower
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Hello, I'm looking for poems about being intrigued by someone/something (but mostly being intrigued by a person). I tried to look; but all I got were intriguing poems. Help please. :) Thanks!
In the meantime...
Do Not Make Things Too Easy By Martha Baird
Do not make things too easy. There are rocks and abysses in the mind As well as meadows. There are
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Hello, poetry lovers. A couple of years ago I bookmarked a Mary Oliver poem in hopes that one day I would read it again and say, "Yes. That is it. That's it, exactly." That time has come but the page I bookmarked is gone. I have searched and scoured and searched some more. Alas, I cannot find it. Which isn't surprising since the only things I can
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I'm hoping someone can help me locate a poem that I read years ago. The poem was about Lucifer and God. I think it was from God's point of view. He and Lucifer were friends before the big split. Lucifer was called either Lucky or Lucy. And the last lines were about God missing his friend. It was probably less than 30 lines total.
"Oh, gather 'round me, comrades: and listen while I speak Of a war, a war, a war where hell is six feet deep. Along the shore, the cannons roar. Oh how can a soldier sleep? The going's slow on Anzio. And hell is six feet deep.
"Praise be to God for this captured sod that rich with blood does sep: With yours and mine, like butchered swine's; and hell
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"When the world is full of agents of my memory, I have already said that it is the world, of course, it is a repetitious communication system, and you go and deny my part in it and you are not sure at all, if I am somewhere else, registered in more detail than you know, what do you want this time, what am I needed for, how little am I good for, and vice
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