Gertrude Stein Place Poems

  • 1.
    A BAG which was left and not only taken but turned away was not found. The place was shown to be very like the last time. A piece was not exchanged, not a bit of it, a piece was left over. The rest was mismanaged.



    ...
  • 2.
    I
    Put a sun in Sunday, Sunday.
    Eleven please ten hoop. Hoop.
    Cousin coarse in coarse in soap.
    ...
  • 3.
    A CHAIR.

    A widow in a wise veil and more garments shows that shadows are even. It addresses no more, it shadows the stage and learning. A regular arrangement, the severest and the most preserved is that which has the arrangement not more than always authorised.

    ...
  • 4.
    The Irish lady can say, that to-day is every day. Caesar can say that
    every day is to-day and they say that every day is as they say.
    In this way we have a place to stay and he was not met because
    he was settled to stay. When I said settled I meant settled to stay.
    ...
  • 5.
    A dark grey, a very dark grey, a quite dark grey is monstrous ordinarily, it is so monstrous because there is no red in it. If red is in everything it is not necessary. Is that not an argument for any use of it and even so is there any place that is better, is there any place that has so much stretched out.



    ...
  • 6.
    A CARAFE, THAT IS A BLIND GLASS.

    A kind in glass and a cousin, a spectacle and nothing strange a single hurt color and an arrangement in a system to pointing. All this and not ordinary, not unordered in not resembling. The difference is spreading.

    ...
  • 7.
    That is the current that makes machinery, that makes it crackle, what is the current that presents a long line and a necessary waist. What is this current.

    What is the wind, what is it.

    ...
  • 8.
    We knew.
    Anne to come.
    Anne to come.
    Be new.
    ...
Total 8 Place Poems by Gertrude Stein

Top 10 most used topics by Gertrude Stein

Place 8 Time 8 White 7 Blue 7 Tender 7 Yellow 6 Chance 6 Green 6 Color 6 Red 6

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Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
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