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100%: Darnell Fulgham: A Little Lite Verse (ISBN: 9781477172780) in Englisch, auch als eBook.Nur diese Ausgabe anzeigen…
100%: Fulgham, Darnell: A Little Lite Verse (ISBN: 9780738852683) 2001, Xlibris Corp, Erstausgabe, in Englisch, Taschenbuch.Nur diese Ausgabe anzeigen…
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Bester Preis: € 3,63 (vom 23.07.2016)1
A Little Lite Verse (2001)
EN NW EB DLISBN: 9781477172780 bzw. 1477172785, in Englisch, Xlibris, Xlibris, Xlibris, neu, E-Book, elektronischer Download.
Lieferung aus: Vereinigte Staaten von Amerika, in-stock.
21 September 2001 A little bit about A LITTLE LITE VERSE by Darnell Fulgham: Born in a sharecropper's shack in '32, I thought we were well off, still do. To Memphis in the War, with picture shows, free books, and indoor plumbing. Went home again, played football, drafted for Korean Conflict, sent to Panama instead. Studied art at Southern MS and architecture at Oregon. Met a middle child like me from Kansas. Tired of the rat race, herded chickens for a while, built a throwaway back in the woods and added on as three boys came, put in a drafting board upstairs, stayed 20 years, moved up the hill and built a better solar shack. It's where we are today. I planned to do a few good buildings but got into a rut, became a hired gun, and couldn't do it any more. Ten years or so ago I took to writing verse. I've filled 12 notebooks full so far. It was fun to do. I hope it's fun for you. Here's a random sample: FOSSILS A razor scrapes the face of canyon walls. Into the chasm at their feet it falls. Through time it cuts the fossils free to find Their way into collections kept behind Closed doors, in crates on which curators have Cemented labels: Bones too short to save. THREESCORE AND TEN MORE OR LESS TO GO At sixty you know you can't be a Greek god again, But does this mean you've lost all that you had? Growing older, is it all that bad? Is what you've got in some ways better than, Or has life really lost its zingaling? The ways of love won't launch a thousand ships And lust no longer leads you by the nose. The flood more slowly swells, more gently flows. Its siren song's not quite so sweet, but drips Its honey still, and still can sting. LOCAL COLOR He went through the alley past the Methodist Church And forced the lock on the bank's back door. He carried a chrome plated .22 and wore A flour sack with eyeholes over his face. Except for Mr Finger, the clerk, the place Was empty. He asked for the cash he had on hand, Took the moneybag and went the way he came. (When he learned.
21 September 2001 A little bit about A LITTLE LITE VERSE by Darnell Fulgham: Born in a sharecropper's shack in '32, I thought we were well off, still do. To Memphis in the War, with picture shows, free books, and indoor plumbing. Went home again, played football, drafted for Korean Conflict, sent to Panama instead. Studied art at Southern MS and architecture at Oregon. Met a middle child like me from Kansas. Tired of the rat race, herded chickens for a while, built a throwaway back in the woods and added on as three boys came, put in a drafting board upstairs, stayed 20 years, moved up the hill and built a better solar shack. It's where we are today. I planned to do a few good buildings but got into a rut, became a hired gun, and couldn't do it any more. Ten years or so ago I took to writing verse. I've filled 12 notebooks full so far. It was fun to do. I hope it's fun for you. Here's a random sample: FOSSILS A razor scrapes the face of canyon walls. Into the chasm at their feet it falls. Through time it cuts the fossils free to find Their way into collections kept behind Closed doors, in crates on which curators have Cemented labels: Bones too short to save. THREESCORE AND TEN MORE OR LESS TO GO At sixty you know you can't be a Greek god again, But does this mean you've lost all that you had? Growing older, is it all that bad? Is what you've got in some ways better than, Or has life really lost its zingaling? The ways of love won't launch a thousand ships And lust no longer leads you by the nose. The flood more slowly swells, more gently flows. Its siren song's not quite so sweet, but drips Its honey still, and still can sting. LOCAL COLOR He went through the alley past the Methodist Church And forced the lock on the bank's back door. He carried a chrome plated .22 and wore A flour sack with eyeholes over his face. Except for Mr Finger, the clerk, the place Was empty. He asked for the cash he had on hand, Took the moneybag and went the way he came. (When he learned.
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A Little Lite Verse (2013)
EN NW EBISBN: 9781477172780 bzw. 1477172785, in Englisch, Xlibris, neu, E-Book.
Lieferung aus: Niederlande, Direct beschikbaar.
bol.com.
21 September 2001 A little bit about A LITTLE LITE VERSE by Darnell Fulgham: Born in a sharecropper’s shack in ’32, I thought we were well off, still do. To Memphis in the War, with picture shows, free books, and indoor plumbing. Went home again, played football, drafted for Korean Conflict, sent to Panama instead. Studied art at Southern MS and architecture at Oregon. Met a middle child like me from Kansas. Tired of the rat race, herded chickens for a while, built a throwaway back in the woods ... 21 September 2001 A little bit about A LITTLE LITE VERSE by Darnell Fulgham: Born in a sharecropper’s shack in ’32, I thought we were well off, still do. To Memphis in the War, with picture shows, free books, and indoor plumbing. Went home again, played football, drafted for Korean Conflict, sent to Panama instead. Studied art at Southern MS and architecture at Oregon. Met a middle child like me from Kansas. Tired of the rat race, herded chickens for a while, built a throwaway back in the woods and added on as three boys came, put in a drafting board upstairs, stayed 20 years, moved up the hill and built a better solar shack. It’s where we are today. I planned to do a few good buildings but got into a rut, became a hired gun, and couldn’t do it any more. Ten years or so ago I took to writing verse. I’ve filled 12 notebooks full so far. It was fun to do. I hope it’s fun for you. Here’s a random sample: FOSSILS A razor scrapes the face of canyon walls. Into the chasm at their feet it falls. Through time it cuts the fossils free to find Their way into collections kept behind Closed doors, in crates on which curators have Cemented labels: Bones too short to save. THREESCORE AND TEN MORE OR LESS TO GO At sixty you know you can’t be a Greek god again, But does this mean you’ve lost all that you had? Growing older, is it all that bad? Is what you’ve got in some ways better than, Or has life really lost its zingaling? The ways of love won’t launch a thousand ships And lust no longer leads you by the nose. The flood more slowly swells, more gently flows. Its siren song’s not quite so sweet, but drips Its honey still, and still can sting. LOCAL COLOR He went through the alley past the Methodist Church And forced the lock on the bank’s back door. He carried a chrome plated .22 and wore A flour sack with eyeholes over his face. Except for Mr Finger, the clerk, the place Was empty. He asked for the cash he had on hand, Took the moneybag and went the way he came. (When he learned who it was he said, “I don’t understand. If he’d asked, I’da loaned it to’im on his name.”) The sheriff and Chief Miller asked around But figured he was long gone and never would be found. Then the FBI came trooping in and took over the search. Folks didn’t take to their snooping, said, “There´s nothing to find." When they spied on a suspect from inside the school The principal had a fit, said, “He’s a friend of mine!” They rolled up their pants, joined hands, and waded through the pool In Red Draper’s pasture and found the alleg-ed money sack. Then, hoping for a witness, they doubled back To the end of the alley across from the church and made a stop At Polly Burney’s home and Beauty Shoppe. They asked again if she had seen anything. “Didn’t see a soul,” she said, “’cept ol’ Duel King.” THE SOUND A STEAM TRAIN MAKES He lives down on the tracks, around the curve or Rather under Blanton’s Gap. With fervor He works on the section gang for them. In trade the company takes good care of him. A whistle drifting down from Williams Hill And coal smoke blowing in the wind, the squeal Of brakes when stopping in its tracks. It cannot turn around, when coming backs. THE SEIGE OF BANKSTON In order to achieve Surprise they came on Christmas Eve, With matches in their saddlebags. They had the town alight Before defenders woke to find They’d lost the fight. The mayor in his gown appeared, aghast. Why are you burning up our town? he asked. The troopers had retorts prepared: It’s only orders, said their head. And good for warming hands, Another said. Too bad ´bout the old man We had to shoot because he ran. Next day they had to execute Eight hundred head a hog Caught hauling ham to Gen’l Hood As epilogue. And a few more names: Secrets, Syphilis, A Chink in Shining Armor, Maya, Inca, Anasazi, Armadillo, Doris Day, Youth and Asia, Bend the Twig and Spoil the Rod, The Haves and the Nots, Sons, Sacred Bison, Smush an Ant, Population Bum, A Hug or Honest Doubt, Feat of Clay, Mary Jane, Ruby, Shakespeare’s Sister, Po’white Trash, An Unmarked Grave. Productinformatie:Taal: Engels;Formaat: ePub met kopieerbeveiliging (DRM) van Adobe;Kopieerrechten: Het kopiëren van (delen van) de pagina's is niet toegestaan ;Geschikt voor: Alle e-readers te koop bij bol.com (of compatible met Adobe DRM). Telefoons/tablets met Google Android (1.6 of hoger) voorzien van bol.com boekenbol app. PC en Mac met Adobe reader software;ISBN10: 1477172785;ISBN13: 9781477172780; Engels | Ebook | 2013.
bol.com.
21 September 2001 A little bit about A LITTLE LITE VERSE by Darnell Fulgham: Born in a sharecropper’s shack in ’32, I thought we were well off, still do. To Memphis in the War, with picture shows, free books, and indoor plumbing. Went home again, played football, drafted for Korean Conflict, sent to Panama instead. Studied art at Southern MS and architecture at Oregon. Met a middle child like me from Kansas. Tired of the rat race, herded chickens for a while, built a throwaway back in the woods ... 21 September 2001 A little bit about A LITTLE LITE VERSE by Darnell Fulgham: Born in a sharecropper’s shack in ’32, I thought we were well off, still do. To Memphis in the War, with picture shows, free books, and indoor plumbing. Went home again, played football, drafted for Korean Conflict, sent to Panama instead. Studied art at Southern MS and architecture at Oregon. Met a middle child like me from Kansas. Tired of the rat race, herded chickens for a while, built a throwaway back in the woods and added on as three boys came, put in a drafting board upstairs, stayed 20 years, moved up the hill and built a better solar shack. It’s where we are today. I planned to do a few good buildings but got into a rut, became a hired gun, and couldn’t do it any more. Ten years or so ago I took to writing verse. I’ve filled 12 notebooks full so far. It was fun to do. I hope it’s fun for you. Here’s a random sample: FOSSILS A razor scrapes the face of canyon walls. Into the chasm at their feet it falls. Through time it cuts the fossils free to find Their way into collections kept behind Closed doors, in crates on which curators have Cemented labels: Bones too short to save. THREESCORE AND TEN MORE OR LESS TO GO At sixty you know you can’t be a Greek god again, But does this mean you’ve lost all that you had? Growing older, is it all that bad? Is what you’ve got in some ways better than, Or has life really lost its zingaling? The ways of love won’t launch a thousand ships And lust no longer leads you by the nose. The flood more slowly swells, more gently flows. Its siren song’s not quite so sweet, but drips Its honey still, and still can sting. LOCAL COLOR He went through the alley past the Methodist Church And forced the lock on the bank’s back door. He carried a chrome plated .22 and wore A flour sack with eyeholes over his face. Except for Mr Finger, the clerk, the place Was empty. He asked for the cash he had on hand, Took the moneybag and went the way he came. (When he learned who it was he said, “I don’t understand. If he’d asked, I’da loaned it to’im on his name.”) The sheriff and Chief Miller asked around But figured he was long gone and never would be found. Then the FBI came trooping in and took over the search. Folks didn’t take to their snooping, said, “There´s nothing to find." When they spied on a suspect from inside the school The principal had a fit, said, “He’s a friend of mine!” They rolled up their pants, joined hands, and waded through the pool In Red Draper’s pasture and found the alleg-ed money sack. Then, hoping for a witness, they doubled back To the end of the alley across from the church and made a stop At Polly Burney’s home and Beauty Shoppe. They asked again if she had seen anything. “Didn’t see a soul,” she said, “’cept ol’ Duel King.” THE SOUND A STEAM TRAIN MAKES He lives down on the tracks, around the curve or Rather under Blanton’s Gap. With fervor He works on the section gang for them. In trade the company takes good care of him. A whistle drifting down from Williams Hill And coal smoke blowing in the wind, the squeal Of brakes when stopping in its tracks. It cannot turn around, when coming backs. THE SEIGE OF BANKSTON In order to achieve Surprise they came on Christmas Eve, With matches in their saddlebags. They had the town alight Before defenders woke to find They’d lost the fight. The mayor in his gown appeared, aghast. Why are you burning up our town? he asked. The troopers had retorts prepared: It’s only orders, said their head. And good for warming hands, Another said. Too bad ´bout the old man We had to shoot because he ran. Next day they had to execute Eight hundred head a hog Caught hauling ham to Gen’l Hood As epilogue. And a few more names: Secrets, Syphilis, A Chink in Shining Armor, Maya, Inca, Anasazi, Armadillo, Doris Day, Youth and Asia, Bend the Twig and Spoil the Rod, The Haves and the Nots, Sons, Sacred Bison, Smush an Ant, Population Bum, A Hug or Honest Doubt, Feat of Clay, Mary Jane, Ruby, Shakespeare’s Sister, Po’white Trash, An Unmarked Grave. Productinformatie:Taal: Engels;Formaat: ePub met kopieerbeveiliging (DRM) van Adobe;Kopieerrechten: Het kopiëren van (delen van) de pagina's is niet toegestaan ;Geschikt voor: Alle e-readers te koop bij bol.com (of compatible met Adobe DRM). Telefoons/tablets met Google Android (1.6 of hoger) voorzien van bol.com boekenbol app. PC en Mac met Adobe reader software;ISBN10: 1477172785;ISBN13: 9781477172780; Engels | Ebook | 2013.
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A Little Lite Verse
EN PB NWISBN: 9780738852683 bzw. 0738852686, in Englisch, Xlibris Corp, Taschenbuch, neu.
Lieferung aus: Vereinigte Staaten von Amerika, Shipping costs to: USA.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, DASH DOT MEDIA.
Xlibris Corp. PAPERBACK. 0738852686 Brand New. Unread condition- no marks or highlighting in text. No remainder mark from publisher. Accurate Descriptions with Fast Shipping and Robust Packaging. BLU113S . New.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, DASH DOT MEDIA.
Xlibris Corp. PAPERBACK. 0738852686 Brand New. Unread condition- no marks or highlighting in text. No remainder mark from publisher. Accurate Descriptions with Fast Shipping and Robust Packaging. BLU113S . New.
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A Little Lite Verse (2001)
EN PB NW FEISBN: 9780738852683 bzw. 0738852686, in Englisch, 122 Seiten, Xlibris Corp, Taschenbuch, neu, Erstausgabe.
Lieferung aus: Vereinigte Staaten von Amerika, Usually ships in 1-2 business days, Real shipping costs can differ.
Von Händler/Antiquariat, DashDotMedia.
Die Beschreibung dieses Angebotes ist von geringer Qualität oder in einer Fremdsprache. Trotzdem anzeigen
Von Händler/Antiquariat, DashDotMedia.
Die Beschreibung dieses Angebotes ist von geringer Qualität oder in einer Fremdsprache. Trotzdem anzeigen
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