
The Ship Pounding By Donald Hall - Giggle Poems
Each morning I made my way among gangways, elevators, and nurses’ pods to Jane’s room to interrogate the grave helpers who tended her through the nigh ...
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Each morning I made my way among gangways, elevators, and nurses’ pods to Jane’s room to interrogate the grave helpers who tended her through the nigh ...
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They explained to me the bloody bandages On the floor in the maternity ward in Rochester, N.Y., Cured the backache I acquired bowing to my old master, ...
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Death, Meanwhile, in a strange Part of town looking for Someone with a bad cough, But the address is somehow wrong, Even death can’t figure it out Amo ...
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Tonight they watch the window Without exchanging a word. If their window stays dark, I know his hand has reached hers Just as she was about to turn on ...
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Radiant child of Leto, farworking Lord Apollo, with lyre in hand and golden plectrum, you sang to the gods on Mount Olympus almost as soon as you were ...
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Balmy overcast nights of late September; Palms standing out in street light, house light; Full moon penetrating the cloud-film With an explosive halo, ...
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“That’s why all babies are beautiful,” Thurber used to say as he grew blind—not dark, he’d go on to explain, but floating in a pale light always, a ki ...
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We reconstruct lives in the intensive care unit, pieced together in a buffet dinner: two widows with cancerous breasts in their balled hands; a 30-yea ...
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You pick up the horn with some will and blow into the freezing night: a love supreme, a love supreme— Dawn comes and you cook up the thick sin 'tween ...
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At her job in the library she arranged better and better flowers, and when students asked for books her hand went out to help. She straightened its fl ...
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Extravagant sweep of clear sky darkening in the big picture window beside the bed, lights here and there already flashing all across the city down bel ...
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Higher and higher he lies Above me in a blue light Shed by a tinted window. I know that my father is there, In the shape of his death still living. He ...
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So I would hear out those lungs,??? The air split into nine levels, Some gift of tongues of the whistler In the invalid’s bed: my mother,??? Warbling ...
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Long scree of pill bottles ?????????spilling over the tipped brim of the wicker basket, fifty or more, ?????????a hundred, your name on every one and ...
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Dear old equivocal and closest friend, Grand Vizier to a weak bewildered king, Now we approach The Ecclesiastean Age Where the heart is like to go off ...
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The oldest sister, her two hands on the table, about to push herself up, stares with grim determination at the affronting dishes, waiting, it seems, u ...
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He lives, who last night flopped from a log Into the creek, and all night by an ankle Lay pinned to the flood, dead as a nail But for the skin of the ...
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The florist was told, cyclamen or azalea; White in either case, for you are pale As they are, “blooming early and profusely” Though the azalea grows i ...
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In the laboratory waiting room containing one television actor with a teary face trying a contact lens; two muscular victims of industrial accidents; ...
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You are singing like a school girl. Sweet weight, in celebration of the woman I am and of the soul of the woman I am and of the central creature and i ...
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La la la, Oh music swims back to me and I can feel the tune they played the night they left me in this private institution on a hill. Music pours over ...
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Farewell to the starlight in whiskey, So long to the sunshine in beer. So so long to God in a bottle, To the lies of rum and vermouth.
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