Charles Wright Poems
|1.||Littlefoot, 19, (This Is The Bird Hour)||5/21/2015|
|2.||A Short History of the Shadow||6/3/2016|
|3.||The Appalachian Book of the Dead||6/3/2016|
|8.||Dio Ed Io||6/3/2016|
|10.||Nine-Panel Yaak River Screen||6/3/2016|
|12.||Sitting Outside at the End of Autumn||6/3/2016|
|13.||Spider Crystal Ascension||6/3/2016|
|14.||Stone Canyon Nocturne||6/3/2016|
|16.||Words and the Diminution of All Things||6/3/2016|
|18.||Still Life On A Matchbox Lid||3/15/2005|
|19.||Body And Soul Ii||1/20/2003|
|21.||After Reading Tu Fu, I Go Outside To The Dwarf Orchard||1/20/2003|
After Reading Tu Fu, I Go Outside To The Dwarf Orchard
East of me, west of me, full summer.
How deeper than elsewhere the dusk is in your own yard.
Birds fly back and forth across the lawn
looking for home
As night drifts up like a little boat.
Day after day, I become of less use to myself.
Like this mockingbird,
I flit from one thing to the next.
What do I have to look forward to at fifty-four?
Tomorrow is dark.
Day-after-tomorrow is darker still.
The sky dogs are whimpering.
Fireflies are dragging the hush of evening
up from the damp grass.
Into the world's tumult, into the chaos of every ...
I seem to have come to the end of something, but don’t know what,
Full moon blood orange just over the top of the redbud tree.
Maundy Thursday tomorrow,
then Good Friday, then Easter in full drag,
Dogwood blossoms like little crosses
All down the street,
lilies and jonquils bowing their mitred heads.
Perhaps it’s a sentimentality about such fey things,