By Hershman John
Last Easter, I gave my mother-in-law a large, brown, simple ceramic
Navajo water pot, shiny with pine…
Navajo water pot, shiny with pine…
Explore Poems: Pastoral
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- By Chris HoshnicDá’ák’eh ahooł’níi niłch’i doo naadą́ą́.
Naadą́ niłch’i
Doo Sodizin.
Niłchi adiin goo
Sodizin bee ’adoolnii… - By J. V. CunninghamI am no shepherd of a child’s surmises.
I have seen fear where the coiled serpent rises,
Thirst where… - By Ted HughesI climbed through woods in the hour-before-dawn dark.
Evil air, a frost-making stillness,
Not a leaf… - By James Longenbach1
Just as there were reeds along the riverbank,
Just as there were clouds
Above my head, my lute was lying… - By Rita DoveI acknowledge my status as a stranger:
Inappropriate clothes, odd habits
Out of sync with wasp and… - By Malcolm CowleyFarmhouses curl like horns of plenty, hide
scrawny bare shanks against a barn, or crouch
empty in … - By James TateDo you have adequate oxen for the job?
No, my oxen are inadequate.
Well, how many oxen would it take… - By Louise GlückDon’t listen to me; my heart’s been broken.
I don’t see anything objectively.
I know myself; I’ve learned… - By Allen GrossmanAt that time the sheep called to him
From their wormy bellies, as they
Lay bloating in the field. He… - By Percy Bysshe ShelleyFrom the forests and highlands
We come, we come;
From the river-girt islands,
Where loud waves are… - By Maureen N. McLaneand sex once
a day a week a
month a year
goes by and one
hyacinth only
returns, frail
blue against the… - By Elizabeth BishopThink of the storm roaming the sky uneasily
like a dog looking for a place to sleep in,
listen to it… - By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height:
What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang)
In … - By Alfred, Lord TennysonThere lies a vale in Ida, lovelier
Than all the valleys of Ionian hills.
The swimming vapour slopes … - By Lisa RobertsonWhat is this tint that in the shrill cress
Will never cease to trouble us and in the fields
Gives prick… - By Kay RyanEverything contains some
silence. Noise gets
its zest from the
small shark's-tooth
shaped fragments… - By Louise GlückOnce I believed in you; I planted a fig tree.
Here, in Vermont, country
of no summer. It was a test:… - By Czeslaw MiloszI don’t remember exactly when Budberg died, it was either two years
ago or three.
The same with Chen… - By Louise GlückSpiked sun. The Hudson’s
Whittled down by ice.
I hear the bone dice
Of blown gravel clicking. Bone-
…