Bruce Beaver Poems
|2.||Death's Directives (I)||4/30/2012|
|3.||Death's Directives (Ii)||4/30/2012|
|4.||East Of Atlan||4/30/2012|
|5.||Lauds And Plants (Xiv)||4/30/2012|
|6.||Letters To Live Poets (Vi)||4/30/2012|
|7.||Letters To Live Poets (Xii)||4/30/2012|
|11.||Poem For Adrienne Rich (I)||4/30/2012|
|12.||Poem For Adrienne Rich (Ii)||4/30/2012|
|13.||Poems For Adrienne Rich (Iv)||4/30/2012|
|18.||Poems For Adrienne Rich (Iii)||4/30/2012|
|19.||Letters To Live Poets (I)||4/30/2012|
I was friendly with a woman once.
It was an unusual experience.
There were certain innate boundaries
and the inevitably marked frontiers.
Occasionally one crossed them to meet the other.
It apparently had something to do with sex.
Before I had a chance to explain my shortcomings
she quickly justified her limitations.
A woman senses things at once — so does a man.
Though not wholly man or woman I call myself man
because as they say a womb makes all the difference.
(This living in the sphere of double distortion
is everything the priests promised and more ...
East Of Atlan
<i>for Dorothy Porter </i>
Square white roofs with square white towers.
Above them, balconies of white
abutting, tables richly bearing
fruit and wine, with amply cushioned
curving divans of carved wood.
Several figures, fair haired, supply
tall in pastel gowns, one white
as the shining bright of the balcony.