For, brother, know that this is art, and you With a cold incautious sorrow stricken dumb,...
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The mission for the day is to encourage students to think beyond traditional career opportunities, prepare for future careers and entrance into the workplace.
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I wear my wedding ring He will cut off your finger And the blood will linger Little bird!
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A poem may be an instance of morality, of social conditions, of psychological history; it may instance all its qualities, but never one of them alone, nor any two or three; never less than all.
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Buzzards float upon the sky Shrilling a metaphysic cry,...
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I suck in smoke! I smile at grimy mirth, And laugh to think that you had parried death.
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For laughter frames the lips of death— Death frames the Singer and the Song.
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Captains of industry, your aimless power Awakens harsh velleities of time....
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By the roadside a hideous carrion, quivering On a clean bed of pebbly clay,...
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Not glad, lifeless tycoon, nor sorry feel For neither Bull nor Bear attends your way....
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When the peace is a trade route, figures For the budget, reduction of population,...
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Life stood on the top stair a moment Waved her last gray slander down the stair,...
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Accept these costly wreaths for my own sake (Death asks no entrance fee to let you in)...
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And even you will come to this foul shame, This ultimate infection,...
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The flies swarmed on the putrid vulva, then A black tumbling rout would seethe Of maggots, thick like a torrent in a glen....
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Death is untutored, with an ignorant frown For precious identities of breath.
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Landor, not that I doubt your word, That you had strove with none...
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Lest darkness fall and time fall In a long night when learned arteries...
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The stage is about to be swept of corpses. You have no more chance than an infusorian Lodged in a hollow molar of an eohippus.
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Death's long anabasis.
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I thought I heard the dark pounding its head On a rock, crying: Who are the dead?
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O God of our flesh, return us to Your wrath, Let us be evil could we enter in Your grace, and falter on the stony path!
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Your death, dear Lady, was quite cold For all the brave tears and ultimate spasm....
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Uncle Ben's brass bullet-mould And powder horn, and Major Bogan's face...
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The gentle serpent, green in the mulberry bush, Riots with his tongue through the hush— Sentinel of the grave who counts us all!
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Men cannot live forever But they must die forever....
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The faceless head lay still. I could not run Or walk, but stood. Alone in the public clearing...
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'The god has not yet answered to our pity For the black vision and tangle in her brains,...
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What shall we say of the bones, unclean, Whose verdurous anonymity will grow?...
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When I have reached the shady underground With but sad hope of coming up again,...
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