By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large…
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large…
Explore Poems: Jobs & Working
Showing 1-20 of 665 poems
Filter Results
- By Sharon OldsBut I love the I, steel I-beam
that my father sold. They poured the pig iron
into the mold, and it fed… - By Rita Dovelate, in aqua and ermine, gardenias
scaling her left sleeve in a spasm of scent,
her gloves white, her… - By Lydia Harris1
Sunday vellum tongues with words of prayer
Monday messages from the unknown
Tuesday how to… - By James JoyceHe travels after a winter sun,
Urging the cattle along a cold red road,
Calling to them, a voice they … - By Angela Jackson1. Yellow paint on brush.
Black body leaning in wind.
Mustached man. Father.
2. House yellow… - By Bertrand N. O. WalkerFor ages long, my people have been
Dwellers in this land;
For ages viewed these mountains,
Loved these… - By Mike DoughtyHe was jailed for cruelty to insects, and his agent wasn’t answering the phone, so he stayed awake in…
- By David RoderickI wear a flower in my lapel.
I like the sweetness of its lie in my nose.
A carnation, the fool’s flower… - By Pat MoraBuenos dias and hasta lue$o in boardrooms and strategy sessions, Where are your grateful holiday smiles…
- By John TickhillIn a sesone of somere þat souerayne ys of alle,
Þat was þe myry monþ of May May May is a “somere” month… - By Terrance HayesBroken Earth
Year of Release: 1939
Running Time: 11 minutes
Cast: Clarence Muse and unidentified boy
I am… - By Arthur SzeA woman moves through a Cloud Hands position,
holding and rotating
an invisible globe—thud, shattering… - By UnknownSwarte smekyd smepes smateryd wyth smoke.
dryue me to deth wyth den of here dyntes.
Swech noys on nyghtes… - By William Langland‘þis were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
þat [myȝte] folwen us ech foot’: þus þis folk hem mened… - By Osip MandelstamToo black, too much indulged, living in clover,
all little withers, all air, all charity,
all crumbling… - By Osip MandelstamI was washing at night out in the yard—
the heavens glowing with rough stars.
A star-beam like salt … - By Daye PhillippoI have learned to love turning a bar of soap
and the calendar’s empty pages in my hands,
soft lather… - By Patricia SmithWhen a bullet enters the brain, the head explodes.
I can think of no softer warning for the mothers
… - By Debora KuanYou know sleep will dart beyond your grasp. Its edges
crude and merciless. You will clutch at straws…