yet its groaning is no worse than our own mind-forged human cries. The winds of a tornado does not live nor die and it does not go go gentle into the night, It curls around us, throwing our lives in turmoil and disarray. It is the tool of the unliving, Perhaps like the devil, it too, considers... Sign in to see full entry.
That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow - - They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces And husband nature's riches from expense. They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence,... Sign in to see full entry.
by Lucille Clifton: there is a girl inside she is randy as a wolf she will not walk away and leave these bones to an old woman she is a green tree in a forest of kindling she is a green girl in a used poet she has waited patient as a nun for the second coming when she can break through gray hairs... Sign in to see full entry.