Poetry
A Supermarket in California What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the streets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, …
Nude Descending a Staircase Toe after toe, a snowing flesh, a gold of lemon, root and rind, she sifts in sunlight down the stairs with nothing on. Nor on her mind. We spy beneath the …
For July the Fourth, 1799 Once more, our annual debt to pay, We meet on this auspicious day That will, through every coming age, Columbia’s patriot sons engage. From this fair day we date the …
A Town Window Beyond my window in the night Is but a drab inglorious street, Yet there the frost and clean starlight As over Warwick woods are sweet. Under the grey drift of the town …
The Listeners “Is there anybody there?” said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grass Of the forest’s ferny floor; And a bird flew up out of …
First Rhymes In the meadow by the mill I›d make my ballad, Tunes to that would whistle shrill And beat the blackbird’s ringing bill.— But surely the innocent spring has died, The sultry noon has …
All in June A week ago I had a fire To warm my feet, my hands and face; Cold winds, that never make a friend, Crept in and out of every place. Today the fields …
Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam. The old South Boston Aquarium stands in a Sahara of snow now. Its broken windows are boarded. The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales. The airy tanks are …
A Sick Child The postman comes when I am still in bed. “Postman, what do you have for me today?” I say to him. (But really I’m in bed.) Then he says - what shall …
1 Master of beauty, craftsman of the snowflake, inimitable contriver, endower of Earth so gorgeous & different from the boring Moon, thank you for such as it is my gift. I have made up a …
News of the Gold World of May News of the Gold World of May in Holland Michigan: “Wooden shoes will clatter again on freshly scrubbed streets—” The tulip will arise and reign again from awnings …
After Jamie Wyeth Whan that April with his showres soote The droughte of March hath perced to the roote... —Chaucer Down a ravine, the first fool flush of spring Is always brown. The ice-carbuncled ground …
IV Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy? Nature’s bequest gives nothing but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free. Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse …
One Art The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of …
April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life …
Easter Eve At length the worst is o’er, and Thou art laid Deep in Thy darksome bed; All still and cold beneath yon dreary stone Thy sacred form is gone; Around those lips where power …