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November Rain by Linda Pastan. Throwing Away the Alarm Clock by Charles Bukowski. Share my father always said, "early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.

Throwing Away the Alarm Clock by Charles Bukowski

" it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house. I Wish I Had Died In Iraq. Posted on June 14, 2011 in Images The letter/poem reads: Sometimes, I wish I had died in Iraq.

I Wish I Had Died In Iraq

I would have been a hero – died for a cause, instead now – I’ll die a relatively wealth man sucking the teet of the contracting world.Sometimes, I wish I had died in Iraq. Because I could not stop for Death. Summary[edit] Text[edit] Because I could not stop for Death— He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves— And Immortality.5 We slowly drove—He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility— We passed the School, where Children strove 10 At Recess—in the Ring We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain— We passed the Setting Sun— Or rather—He passed Us— The Dews drew quivering and chill— 15 For only Gossamer, my Gown— My Tippet—only Tulle— We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground— The Roof was scarcely visible— 20 The Cornice—in the Ground— Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity—

Because I could not stop for Death

Do not stand at my grave and weep. Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep is a poem written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Although the origin of the poem was disputed until later in her life, Mary Frye's authorship was confirmed in 1998 after research by Abigail Van Buren, a newspaper columnist.[1] Full text[edit] Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I do not sleep. The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Gustave Doré. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe Illustrated by Gustave Doré

"'T is some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door— Only this, and nothing more. " Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow:—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore.

Jabberwocky. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son!


The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch! " He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought -- So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! Hansjörg Neth > 'The chaos' (Gerard Nolst Trenite) The Chaosby Gerard Nolst Trenité Dearest creature in creationStudying English pronunciation,I will teach you in my verseSounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.

Hansjörg Neth > 'The chaos' (Gerard Nolst Trenite)

I will keep you, Susy, busy,Make your head with heat grow dizzy;Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.

Poetry (the technical stuff)