American Poets

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Can you name the American poets?

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Lines of poetryPoet
I, too, sing America. / I am the darker brother.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked
I give the undertakers permission to haul my body / to the graveyard and to lay away all, the head, the / feet, the hands, all
The hills my brothers & I created / Never balanced, & it took years / To discover how the world worked.
The old South Boston Aquarium stands / in a Sahara of snow now. Its broken windows are boarded. / The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales. / The airy tanks are dry.
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State, / And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. / Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life, / I woke to black flak and
You do not do, you do not do / Any more, black shoe / In which I have lived like a foot / For thirty years, poor and white, / Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
anyone lived in a pretty how town / (with up so floating many bells down) / spring summer autumn winter / he sang his didn't he danced his did
I placed a jar in Tennessee, / And round it was, upon a hill.
It was an icy day. / We buried the cat, / then took her box / and set fire to it / in the back yard. / Those fleas that escaped / earth and fire / died by the cold.
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond / all this fiddle. / Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one / discovers in / it after all, a place
Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, / Who after birth didst by my side remain, / Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true, / Who thee abroad, exposed to
I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl— / Life's little duties do—precisely— / As the very least / Were infinite—to me—
Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table / Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step, / She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage / To meet him in the doorway with the n
A noiseless patient spider, / I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated, / Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, / It launch'd forth filament, filament,
Whenever Richard Cory went down town, / We people on the pavement looked at him: / He was a gentleman from sole to crown, / Clean favored and imperially slim.
I saw the hawk ride updraft in the sunset over Wyoming. / It rose from coniferous darkness, past gray jags / Of mercilessness, past whiteness, into the gloaming / Of dream-spectral
It was many and many a year ago, / In a kingdom by the sea, / That a maiden there lived whom you may know / By the name of Annabel Lee;
April is the cruellest month, breeding / Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain.
In your extended absence, you permit me / use of earth, anticipating / some return on investment. I must report / failure in my assignment, principally / regarding the tomato plant
Lines of poetryPoet
My candle burns at both ends; / It will not last the night; / But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— / It gives a lovely light!
All houses wherein men have lived and died / Are haunted houses.Through the open doors / The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, / With feet that make no sound upon the floor
You may write me down in history / With your bitter, twisted lies, / You may trod me in the very dirt / But still, like dust, I'll rise.
What the bad news was / became apparent too late / for us to do anything good about it.
This is a day when truths will out, perhaps; / leak from the dangling telephone earphones / sapping the festooned switchboards' strength;
They eat beans mostly, this old yellow pair. / Dinner is a casual affair. / Plain chipware on a plain and creaking wood, / Tin flatware.
Great God, I ask for no meaner pelf / Than that I may not disappoint myself, / That in my action I may soar as high / As I can now discern with this clear eye.
Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones / Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones / In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done, / And start their silent swingin
What makes a nation's pillars high / And it's foundations strong? / What makes it mighty to defy / The foes that round it throng?
One flower / on the cliffside / Nodding at the canyon
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, / What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
'Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land, / Taught my benighted soul to understand / That there's a God, that there's a Saviour too:
About the Shark, phlegmatical one, / Pale sot of the Maldive sea, / The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim, / How alert in attendance be.
Only name the day, and we'll fly away / In the face of old traditions, / To a sheltered spot, by the world forgot, / Where we'll park our inhibitions.
The fruit rolled by all day. / They prayed the cogs would creep; / They thought about Saturday pay, / And Sunday sleep.
'I cannot go to school today,' / Said little Peggy Ann McKay. / 'I have the measles and the mumps, / A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
I have gone out, a possessed witch, / haunting the black air, braver at night; / dreaming evil, I have done my hitch / over the plain houses, light by light:
The sun that brief December day / Rose cheerless over hills of gray, / And, darkly circled, gave at noon / A sadder light than waning moon.
My dear Telemachus, / The Trojan War is over now; / I don't recall who won it.
Burning, he walks in the stream of flickering letters, clarinets, / machines throbbing quicker than the heart, lopped-off heads, silk / canvases, and he stops under the sky // and

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Created Aug 24, 2010Editor's PickSourceReportNominate
Tags:poem