Bruce Beaver Poems
|2.||Letters To Live Poets (I)||4/30/2012|
|3.||Poems For Adrienne Rich (Iii)||4/30/2012|
|4.||Poems For Adrienne Rich (Iv)||4/30/2012|
|11.||Poem For Adrienne Rich (I)||4/30/2012|
|12.||Poem For Adrienne Rich (Ii)||4/30/2012|
|13.||Letters To Live Poets (Vi)||4/30/2012|
|14.||Letters To Live Poets (Xii)||4/30/2012|
|18.||Death's Directives (I)||4/30/2012|
|19.||Death's Directives (Ii)||4/30/2012|
|20.||East Of Atlan||4/30/2012|
|21.||Lauds And Plants (Xiv)||4/30/2012|
At the foot of a northern pylon of the Harbour Bridge
I have kept my vigil since the mighty span was built.
I come early in the day from worn-out corners of the area
and sit when the sun is out until the waning afternoon,
thence to another role, another manifestation of duty.
On my way I pass a cavern echoing with traffic noise.
When the sun is setting it blazes up like a testing tunnel
of the cosmic fire at the beginning and ending of universes.
It reminds me we are not that far in time from a kalpa’s ending.
More than four thousand million years in the ...
Death's Directives (I)
When life was all about me
like a constraining womb
I wrote poems about death.
I did not call them death poems
but thought they were all about life
in extremis, life as an agony.
Now at the end of winter
death seems to be everywhere,