December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

COTTON SONG by N. Jean Toomer.

Come, brother, come. Let’s lift it;
Come now, hewit!

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Thu, 24.09.2009

SONG OF THE SON by N. Jean Toomer.

Pour O pour that parting soul in song, O pour it in the sawdust glow of night. Into the velvet pine-smoke air to-night.
And let the valley carry it along.

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Thu, 24.09.2009

GEORGIA DUSK by N. Jean Toomer.

The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue
The setting sun, too indolent to hold
A lengthened tournament for flashing gold,
Passively darkens for night’s barbeque,

A feast of moon and men and barking hounds.
A orgy for some genius of the south
White blood-hot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth,
Surprised with making folk-songs from soul sounds.

The sawmill blows its whistle buzz-saws stop,
And silence breaks the bud of knoll and hill,
Soft settling pollen where plowed lands fulfill
The early promise of a bumper crop.

Smoke from the pyramid sawdust pile
Curls up, blue ghost of tre

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

The usual is there, nondescript trees opened like umbrellas, pessimist always expecting rain, chickadees whose folding and unfolding wings suggest the shuffling and reshuffling of the cardsharp's deck; nothing... LANDSCAPE WITH SAXOPHONE by Thylias Moss.
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