Poetry
Look at me. I’m standing on a deck in the middle of Oregon. There are people inside the house. It’s not my house, you don’t know them. They’re drinking and singing and playing guitars. You …
Two Boys They take the new machine gun out of its wrap in pieces, the flat black barrel, the other parts, delicate in their oil, plastic stock like a toy until snapped onto the rest, …
OzymandiasI met a traveler from an antique land Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled …
The Heat of Autumn The heat of autumn is different from the heat of summer. One ripens apples, the other turns them to cider. One is a dock you walk out on, the other the …
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wade; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that …
I’m walking behind my friends after a night on the town, and they’re not only shambling but weaving from side to side, sometimes together, like over-the-hill soul singers trying to regroup after years of pursuing …
Ars Poetica Write each of your poems as if it were your last. In this century, saturated with strontium, charged with terrorism, flying with supersonic speed, death comes with terrifying suddenness. Send each of your …
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow, Cynara! Thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; And I was desolate and sick of an …
Across the table, Bridget sneaks a smile; she’s caught me staring past her at the man who brings us curried dishes, hot and mild. His eyes are blue, intensely blue, hot sky; his hair, dark …
Here’s what you need to do, since time began: find something — diamond-rare or carbon-cheap, it’s all the same — and love it all you can. It should be something close — a field, a …
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, My crop of corn is but a field of tares, And all my good is …
Vocation of the ChairIt longs to be one who holds you, keeps you from falling, its curved legs shapely as a bride. The chair that would be saint, martyr, acolyte. Your little sins of omission …
“mommie,” she says, “i’ve never seen you and daddy kiss.” “Of course you have,” the mother says; “you’ve just forgotten.” “i wouldn’t have forgotten that,” she says, “because i always wish you would.” “it doesn’t …
Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend Justus quidem tu es, Dominie, si disputem tecum Verumtamen justa ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c. Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend With thee; …
Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty …
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. …