Famous Baked In Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Baked In poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous baked in poems. These examples illustrate what a famous baked in poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
by Sandburg, Carl
“Be good to me, put me down easy on the floors of the new concrete houses; I was poured out like a concrete house and baked in fire too.”...Read More
by Hacker, Marilyn
make sanitized excuses for the war.
There are innumerable kinds of bread
brought up from bakeries, baked in the kitchen:
the date, the latitude, tell which one was
dropped by a child beneath the bloodied branches.
The uncontrolled and multifurcate branches
of possibility infiltrate houses'
walls, windowframes, ceilings. Where there was
a tower, a town: ash and burnt wires, a graph
on a distant computer screen. Elsewhere, a kitchen
table's set...Read More
by Edson, Russell
...ears of this: curried mouse, garlic and butter
mouse, mouse sauteed in its own fur, Salisbury mouse,
mouse-in-the-trap, baked in the very trap that killed it,
mouse tartare, mouse poached in menstrual blood at the full
of the moon . . .
Twenty years of this, eating their way through the
mice . . . And yet, not to forget, each night, one less vermin
in the world . . ....Read More
by Goose, Mother
... Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye;Four-and-twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie!When the pie was opened The birds began to sing;Was not that a dainty dish To set before the king?The king was in his counting-house, Counting out his money;The queen was in the parlor, Eating bread and honey.The maid was in the garden, Hang...Read More
by Sandburg, Carl
...d steer airplanes across North America, Europe, Asia, round the world.
Hacked from a hard rock country, broken and baked in mills and smelters, the rusty dust waits
Till the clean hard weave of its atoms cripples and blunts the drills chewing a hole in it.
The steel of its plinths and flanges is reckoned, O God, in one-millionth of an inch.
Once when I saw the curves of fire, the rough scarf women dancing,
Dancing out of the flues and smoke-stacks—flying hair of...Read More
by Tagore, Rabindranath
He does what he likes with his spade, he soils his clothes
with dust, nobody takes him to task if he gets baked in the sun or
I wish I were a gardener digging away at the garden with
nobody to stop me from digging.
Just as it gets dark in the evening and my mother sends me to
I can see through my open window the watchman walking up and
The lane is dark and lonely, and the street-lamp stands like
a giant with one red eye in its he...Read More
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