Poetry
There is no end, No limit to the cosmos, above, below, Around, about, stretching on every side. This I have proven, but the fact itself Cries loud in proclamation, nature’s deep Is luminous with proof. …
The last time I saw the name Paul Castle it was printed in gold on the wall above the showers in the boys’ locker room, next to the school record for the mile. I don’t …
A boat beneath a sunny sky, Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July — Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear — Long has paled …
Every Tuesday and Wednesday morning I pick up Joe from the autism class, walk him down the school hallway, his little starfish hand wriggling in mine, as he counts the numbered doors — Ten, nine, …
(March, 1841) What a herd of slaves Jackson brought in last month. No sooner had their strength returned after the long march to the farm from Lynchburg but they began to plot another run. We …
d. July 6, 2002 It seems too crazy, like one of your mad, funny poems, that you’re not with us anymore, not here to point out the thisness of things, like mountains, circuses, and fresh …
It is portentous, and a thing of state That here at midnight, in our little town A mourning figure walks, and will not rest, Near the old court-house pacing up and down, Or by his …
Night. Street. Lamp. Drugstore. Dull and sleazy light. Live twenty-five years more — It will be as now. No way out. You die — and again you begin. All is repeated as before: Night. The …
The nights are long, the days long between the nights — no time for sleep; the sheets are ochre with damp, with the one body restless in the folds, the eyelids wide in premonition: another …
If my feet are chained, I’ll use my ten fingers to climb to you If my hands are tied, I’ll use my knees and chin to climb to you If my legs are smashed, I’ll …
There are no stars tonight But those of memory. Yet how much room for memory there is In the loose girdle of soft rain. There is even room enough For the letters of my mother’s …
No one ever talks about it. The parties have ended. Confetti has been swept up and thrown away. Headaches have disappeared. And maybe that’s why I’ve always preferred the second day of the year. Because …
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in …
Because he was a butcher and thereby Did earn an honest living (and did right), I would not have you think that Reuben Bright Was any more a brute than you or I; For when …
Taking little notice of her womanly ambitions he captured her with words of love and all of the positions, explored her beauty bodily from lip to breast to bottom, but left her mind a mystery, …
I watch you walk up our front path, the entire right side of your body stiff and unbending, your leg dragging on the ground, your arm not moving. Six different times you ask me the …