so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens
Mothlike in mists, scintillant in the minute brilliance of cloudless days, with broad bellying sails they glide to the wind tossing green water from their sharp prows while over them the crew crawls.
O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.
No wreaths please - especially no hothouse flowers. Some common memento is better, something he prized and is known by: his old clothes - a few books perhaps.
It is difficult to get the news from poems yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.
O Marvelous! what new configuration will come next? I am bewildered with multiplicity.
The Moon, the dried weeds and the Pleiades - Seven feet tall the dark, dried weedstalks make a part of the night a red lace on the milky blue sky.
It is at the edge of a petal that love waits.
To refine, to clarify, to intensify that eternal moment in which we alone live there is but a single force the imagination.
Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!
