If I had loved you, soon, ah, soon I had lost you.
Had I been kind you had kissed me and gone your faithless way.
The kiss that I would not give is the kiss that your lips are holding:
Now you are mine forever, because of all I have cost you.
You think that you are free and have given over your ...Read more
Devoutly worshipping the oak
Wherein the barred owl stares,
The little feathered forest folk
Are praying sleepy prayers.
Praying the summer to be long
And drowsy to the end,
And daily full of sun and song,
That broken hopes may mend.
Praying the golden age to stay
Until the whip-poor-will
Weir, Mississippi, 1984
Great and Grand-mother of all
rooted things waits on the family porch.
We make our way back to her beginnings.
Six daughters gather space and time
in a small kitchen.
Recipes as old as the cauldron
and aprons wrap around these daughters;
in a narrow
on every side
by the neigh-
of future wars
in memory of Jean Blecker Levin
Not a trace, those days, not a sign
On a map of where you were from,
That farm greener than green
Rolling hills, hay high as a barn
Under skies without end, joy
Rolling too, the way it used to.
Now that you're gone,
The name of the place reappears.
Not a map in the world
If I wasn't such a deadbeat, I'd learn Greek.
I wouldn't write sonnets; I'd write epics
and odes. I'd love a man who was
acceptable and conformed to every code.
I'd put together my desk and write my epic or ode
at sunset over my suburb. How I would love my shrubs!
But all I do is listen to country (and the ...Read more
Then we are in the back seat of a car kissing
not the light kind but one where our
hands are on each other's cheeks holding
each other's heads as if they will fall
off why does so much love come at the beginning
then disappear then once again at the moment
before death why can't the same kind exist
in ...Read more
I have known hours built like cities,
House on grey house, with streets between
That lead to straggling roads and trail off,
Forgotten in a field of green;
Hours made like mountains lifting
White crests out of the fog and rain,
And woven of forbidden music-
Hours eternal in ...Read more
I, WalterMike Hartner
Born of the working class in England, young Walter Crofter runs away from his dysfunctional family to seek fun and adventure. Becoming first mate on a trade ship, not only does Walter save the captain's life more than once, he excels at his position to find wealth, love...
Behold me, in my chiffon, gauze, and tinsel, Flitting out of the shadow into the spotlight, And into the shadow again, without a whisper!- Firefly's my name, I am evanescent.
Firefly's your name. You are evanescent. But I follow you as remorselessly as darkness, And shut you in and enclose you, at last, and always, Till you are lost,-as a ...Read more
Loudell, in a loose cotton dress
the color of delphiniums,
her hair, owl-feathered and quiet
as her naked toes in their pale sandals
is a friend from this harvest part
of our lives,
a Minerva woman
of herbs and salsas, hellebore, trumpet vines
and heirloom tomatoes. She glides
among us all,<...Read more
Posters for the missing kapok tree appear on streetlights offering a reward for its safe return. I hate to spoil it,
but the end of every biography is death. The end of a city in the rainforest is a legend and a lost expedition. The end
of mythology is forgetfulness, placing gifts in the hole where the worshipped tree should be. But my memory...Read more
The sun rears her unlikely head
In this late spring,
I walk past rubber black boots decorated
With brightly colored umbrellas
In a useless attempt to block the rain.
Up the subway to 14th street
Around the corner to 12th
I climb to the tenth or the eighth floor
Depending on your bodily condition.
I ...Read more
This well-used little bag is just the right size
to carry a copy of the Psalms. Its plain-woven
flowers and helicopter share the sky with bombs
falling like turnips-he who makes light of other
men will be killed by a turnip. A bachelor,
I wear it across my shoulder-it's easier to be
a bachelor all my life than a widow for a day.
On the ...Read more
How I loved
each bare floor, each
naked wall, the shadows on
newly empty halls.
By day, my head humming
to itself of dreams, I cleaned and
to make life
new; dislodging from the corner,
moths and cicadas
pinned to the screen, the carcasses
dangling from ...Read more
Oh! we love all the French, and we speak in French
As along through France we go.
But the moments to us that are keen and sweet
Are the ones when our khaki boys we meet,
Stalwart and handsome and trim and neat;
And we call to them-'Boys, hello!'
'Hello, American boys,
Luck to you, and life's best joys!<...Read more
Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurled
Above the tide of hours, trouble the air,
And God's bell buoyed to be the water's care;
While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a band
With blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand,
I call, as they go by me one by one...Read more
Let us for the new all room make.
You say my schooner is upside down
and I say my umbrella is enviable.
The gigantic punishment the sun
says something about broken glass
making every room sparkle-sashed,
every bright beauty terrifies,
the furious gift the sun mugs
through its Rilke routine ...Read more
O the body's much ballyhoo'd right to be born!
Aligning with her right to shine & die, a star!
They all know her name but not her age
A doctor our daughters shared, opined.
Her name, he said, was failure to-
(Thrived onscreen, you've seen her.)
My daughter towered above her in real
Life. Born on the same day,...Read more
The wolf appointed to tear me apart
is sure making slow work of it.
This morning just one eye weeping,
a single chip out of my back and
the usual maniacal wooden bird flutes
in the brain. Listen to that feeble howl
like having fangs is something to regret,
like we shouldn't give thanks for blood
I found the scrap of City Paper
classified, the 1-900 number and photos
like candidates there, in love's voting machine.
Discomfort station. No pissoir. Hothouse maybe for
a fourteenth-year sprig: me. Light box
to slideshow the introvert
cloaked in a prepaid identity
discreet as a shirttail in the fly.
Ma ...Read more