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Site2916 vote1" target top" img src"m/vote_g" alt"vote" style"border:none / /a /div!-if lte IE 6 link rel"stylesheet" type"text/css" media"screen" href"m/s" /script!endif- search results: pages to search: add a page to search: URL: page that will be crawled scanner: name of the file to use for crawling.A Poet on a Magical Journey Home. Chronicles of a Sea Woman Parallels Studio Bipolar Poetry. Mantra. X Poetry, Film and Books Poetry Archive Project Gutenberg, a huge collection of books as text, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990.What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it.The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore.This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.By Walt Whitman I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer.Org: Tennyson Paul Celan Love In Exile JaÃana's Poetry. Orr, Ted - Reflections and Poetry. Nodes powered by Open Directory Project at dmoz. org DayPoems Favorites. PORT : An Online Visual Arts Journal.I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see.And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may.


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