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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
When I drink coffee I roll it over my tongue and remember how I grew the beans myself on my own plantations in Guatamala. I hope my secret family there is doing well. I captain this battleship in tight formation with destroyers and frigates. My contemporary dance company is in constant demand. I am a busy man but I sleep well.
An old man boarded the bus, seating himself next to me and behind the boys. He was unshaven, and his jeans had seen better days. He sat quietly for a few minutes, observing the scene, and then he tapped the nearest boy on the shoulder. 'I'm impressed by your enthusiasm, and it so happens I've written a poem about that subject. Here it is.'
Winter fronts roll through, we have had our tongues out for rain, genuflected in case it may have helped, and now another scud rattling on the tin roof, gutters run over like a gushing bereavement.
The evidence, from one line onwards, was unmistakeable Doyle. Imitation was impossible, self-parody ditto. Gore Vidal loved to say that Tennessee Williams knew how to do only one thing, but he did that thing better than anyone else. Brian Doyle's poetry was a bit like that.
If you listen carefully, the sound of each colour can be heard, the scrunch of each mineral discerned, each cadence, a trace of its former life, a finer distinction. Relieved of its cumbersome form, it becomes lighter and mixes with white spirit like a cocktail blast of violets, mauves and ochres, ground to a fine powder and wet with new life.
... the actuality of Her and me growing dimmer as the distorted glow of a new morning's haze illuminates factories in the distance as if deleted scenes ...
Early traumas last, the experts say ... but memory can resemble an old wound that presages damp days or, like a sharp new line, make one gasp again. What violence do they endure who with nightmare slowness flee a wolfish past? And are theirs unexamined lives who have attained the modern armour-plated dream?
I remember holding your hand, brown against white. Holding it so tight, so the waves of dirty looks and hushed giggles didn't wash my tiny body away. They asked what a 'wet back' was doing with a little white girl. They asked what it was like to have a dad that talked so funny. They asked things I didn't know the answers to.
193-200 out of 200 results.