poem index

poet

Jenny Boully

Printer-friendly version

by this poet

poem

But the rocking chair appears to be missing a little something. If you hang the birdcage there, we'll hear its singing. Keep the curtains sheer drawn over the four poster—that’s the kind of bed I would like to have. I will can the preserves; I will can the preserves so that come autumn, come autumn

poem

disappear: one by one by one the darling scented rushes sink back into melt. In the dream stream, the boat glides past too quick, and there is no chance to gather the loveliest of the dream-rushes. No less satisfying was the old sheep: so many knitting needles, dozens and dozens all pierced into a ball of worsted,

poem

The Wendy girl will live longer than you; the Never bird will live longer than you; the wayward thing will be taken to wife (unlike you, who will never be taken to wife), and she too will live longer than you. Shoot her down, shoot her down, you say. And down comes the Wendy bird, and