Because We Never Practiced With The Escape Chamber poem – Alice Fulton poems | Poetry Monster

we had to read the instructions as we sank.

In a hand like carded lace. Not nuclear warheads

on the sea’s floor nor the violet flow over the reactor

will outlive this sorrowful rhyme. Vain halo! My project

becalmed, I’ll find I’ve built a monument

more passing than a breeze. It will cost us,

Pobrecito. We can’t buy a prayer. Did you call

my name or was that the floorboard

wheezing? These memories won’t get any bigger,

will they? I think something is coming that will

vastly improve our quietude. I’m growing

snow crystals from vapor in anticipation and praying

for the velvet-cushioned kneeler that I need to pray.

I made this little sound for you to wait in.

Alice Fulton

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• Robert Burns: My Lord A-Hunting: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Bonie Moor-Hen: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Prologue: Spoken by Mr. Woods on his benefit-night, Monday, 16th April, 1787 by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Verses Intended To Be Written Below A Noble Earl’s Picture: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epistle To Mrs. Scott: Gudewife of Wauchope-House, Roxburghshire. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Inscription For The Headstone Of Fergusson The Poet: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Extempore In The Court Of Session: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Bonie Dundee: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Rattlin’, Roarin’ Willie: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Mr. William Smellie -A Sketch: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: To Miss Logan, With Beattie’s Poems, For A New-Year’s Gift, Jan. 1, 1787: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Address To A Haggis: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Address To Edinburgh: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Yon Wild Mossy Mountains: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: A Winter Night : by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: On Sensibility: Fragment by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epistle To Major Logan: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Tam Samson’s Elegy: When this worthy old sportman went out, last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian’s phrase, “the last of his fields,” and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composed his elegy and epitaph.-R.B., 1787. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Composed In Spring: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Inscribed On A Work Of Hannah More’s: Presented to the Author by a Lady. by Robert Burns

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