By Karen Volkman
Read Online or Download Spar (Iowa Poetry Prize) PDF
Similar contemporary books
Humans journal known as Barbara Delinsky's 3 needs, ''a heart-tugging tale of affection and redemption that's strangely strong. '' Now, in her most recent manhattan instances bestseller, Delinsky gives you a profoundly relocating story that's as richly textured. colourful, and poignant because the northern California panorama within which it really is set.
Along with his rugged-cowboy attractiveness and the type of smile that makes a lady’s pulse race, Trey Calder may have his decide of ladies. yet he’s been retaining out for somebody designated, and the minute he lays eyes on freelance photographer Sloan Davis, he understands he’s came upon her. The charm among the 2 is fast and charged as warmth lightning, no matter if they're as various as may be.
To avoid wasting her sister, she needs to cease a silent killer. . . . retaining Atlanta from the off-world criminals of Underground is difficult adequate, yet now Detective Charlie Madigan and her siren associate, Hank, study that the addicts of the offworld drug ash have all started taking their very own lives. Ash makes people the appropriate vessels for ownership, and anything or anyone is major them to their deaths.
It is the form of tale investigative reporter Matt Winters writes approximately -- no longer the type he desires to be dwelling. whilst he discovers a child female offspring on his doorstep, he panics . .. then he desperately turns to his temptingly beautiful neighbor Caitlyn Devereaux for support. in the end, girls are meant to understand every little thing approximately infants!
- The Answer: A Fable for Our Times
- Man in Control
- Mortalis (The Demonwars Saga)
- q-Series from a Contemporary Perspective
Extra info for Spar (Iowa Poetry Prize)
Example text
Still—a starling rustles in your temple, mutant mystic. Still—a something shudders in your fingers, when you sing. That there are—yes, no, then, never—pieces of plan and purpose. That they stay. 28 When kiss spells contradiction it spills an ocean of open clothes. I gave me to one who hung hearts so high it was a mast in mute blue weather, the clang and strop of it, the undercover wet. Said are they sails your impenetrables that only winds can jibe them, the arc and the rip and the rush of all that flood.
And incipient ends. The greentops nodding in their heights won’t think to listen. Only you, old rust-colored measure, who reads in bed. 35 I never wish to sing again as I used to, when two new eyes could always stain the sea, of tangent worlds, indolent as callows, and the clock went backward for a skip, to rise, to set. Some will twine grass to fit in a thimble, some will carve bread to mend a craggy wall, some in the slantest midnight cry for sleep. When the pitch-owl swallows the moon, what welt will show it?
The outlines do not hold, the stitched derisions, in summer seepage I am what and it is we, with my green dress and ticking I am part weed and part machine. Labor of morning, to lock the darkness in. Where does the night go, Ms. Engine, Mr. Mean? Where’s the big-handed washer pures my pielipped Rose-of-Rupture, that grow like strident rumor, this smattered year? And the brat of limit with her mottled, filthy fist? This is my letter to losses—swallow it 17 Yellow drapes for the window the sun slits.