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Published by: PaulinaOdeth Roth on Oct 24, 2013
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At the San Francisco Airport By Ivor Winters

To my daughter, 1954 This is the terminal: the light Gives perfect vision, false and hard; The metal glitters, deep and bright. Great planes are waiting in the yard— They are already in the night. And you are here beside me, small, Contained and fragile, and intent On things that I but half recall— Yet going whither you are bent. I am the past, and that is all. But you and I in part are one: The frightened brain, the nervous will, The knowledge of what must be done, The passion to acquire the skill To face that which you dare not shun. The rain of matter upon sense Destroys me momently. The score: There comes what will come. The expense Is what one thought, and something more— One’s being and intelligence. This is the terminal, the break. Beyond this point, on lines of air, You take the way that you must take; And I remain in light and stare— In light, and nothing else, awake.

Still to be Neat By Ben Jonson Still to be neat, still to be dressed, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed,

They strike mine eyes. A cuff neglectful. no granite could declare. and cozening eyesUnder this stone one loved too wildly lies. in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me. A winning wave. than when art Is too precise in every part. A careless shoe-string. An erring lace. give me a face. but not my heart. how fair. All is not sweet.Though art's hid causes are not found. and thereby Ribands to flow confusedly. 1941 . How false she was. Robes loosely flowing. A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction. deserving note. all is not sound. That makes simplicity a grace. hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art. 1609 Delight in Disorder By Robert Herrick A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness. Give me a look. 1648 Slim Cunning Hands By Walter de la Mare Slim cunning hands at rest. In the tempestuous petticoat. Nor all earth's flowers. which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher.

like a stone – This is the Hour of Lead – Remembered. mechanical. 1877 After great pain. Whatever is fickle. if outlived. For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim. or Air. or Centuries before’? The Feet. All things counter. their gear and tackle and trim.’ And ‘Yesterday. finches’ wings. Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls. recollect the Snow – First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go – 1862 . spare. a formal feeling comes – (372) By Emily Dickinson After great pain. or Ought – Regardless grown. original. As Freezing persons. like Tombs – The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He. Landscape plotted and pieced – fold. slow. He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. and plough. sweet. And áll trádes. freckled (who knows how?) With swift. that bore. go round – A Wooden way Of Ground. dim. a formal feeling comes – The Nerves sit ceremonious. fallow. strange. adazzle. A Quartz contentment. sour.Pied Beauty By Gerard Manley Hopkins Glory be to God for dappled things – For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow.

They know us better than we know ourselves. I ride the bus home . I go to the university and out for lunch and listen to the higher-ups tell me all they have read about Indians and how to analyze this poem. I ride the bus and I do not think of children without food or how my sisters are chained to prison beds.This Is Just To Say By William Carlos Williams I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold 1962 Workday By Linda Hogan I go to work though there are those who were missing today from their homes.

I don’t mention Victor Jara’s mutilated hands or men next door in exile or my own family’s grief over the lost child.and sit behind the driver. the perfect legs even with their spider veins. the broken knees with pins in them. We talk about the weather and not enough exercise. When I get off the bus I look back at the light in the windows and the heads bent and how the women are all alone in each seat framed in the windows and the men are coming home. the pelvis and small back with its soft down. 1988 . the beautiful feet. the shoulders which bend forward and forward and forward to protect the heart from pain. then I see them walking on the Avenue. the thighs with their cravings.

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