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Tract
By William Carlos Williams
I will teach you my townspeople
how to perform a funeral —
for you have it over a troop
of artists—
unless one should scour the world —
you have the ground sense necessary.
See! the hearse leads.
I begin with a design for a hearse.
For Christ's sake not black —
nor white either — and not polished!
Let it be weathere... See more
By William Carlos Williams
I will teach you my townspeople
how to perform a funeral —
for you have it over a troop
of artists—
unless one should scour the world —
you have the ground sense necessary.
See! the hearse leads.
I begin with a design for a hearse.
For Christ's sake not black —
nor white either — and not polished!
Let it be weathere... See more
William Carlos Williams • Tract by William Carlos Williams | Poetry Foundation
But now it has happened,
No use in talking
The silence between me and you
Has never had meaning.
It was, love it, that was all
That was asked.
But now it has happened,
No words for the foretime,
The desperation has made me the same,
Has made me another.
Who looks at the shape of the fish
Grow giant on the side of his bowl,
Who walks on the terrace
Observing fol... See more
No use in talking
The silence between me and you
Has never had meaning.
It was, love it, that was all
That was asked.
But now it has happened,
No words for the foretime,
The desperation has made me the same,
Has made me another.
Who looks at the shape of the fish
Grow giant on the side of his bowl,
Who walks on the terrace
Observing fol... See more
Unknown • CHET ON POETRY (Chet Baker)
Staying Power
poetryfoundation.org
"Lost" [by David Wagoner]
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees
... See moreI rose this morning early as usual, and went to my desk.
But it’s spring,
and the thrush is in the woods,
somewhere in the twirled branches, and he is singing…
I am touching a few leaves.
I am noticing the way the yellow butterflies
move together, in a twinkling cloud, over the field.
And I am thinking: maybe just looking and listening... See more
Mary Oliver Wild Geese
phys.unm.edu