David Roderick
David Roderick Poems
Loot my point of view,
hove my heart
free from its hived booth
...
I'm not interested in sadness,
just a yard as elder earth,
a library of sunflowers
...
In flowerbeds we crowd, some praying,
some bowing as the world, minute as it is,
stays in motion: box stores doing business,
...
Basho said to refuse a prayer until its warmth hunches inside like
a bird in its hutch. First the fledgling is born, then the worm, then they
...
First the towers
fell, then the Dow. A few years later,
while she was still recovering
...
Perhaps each color was inspired by a sensation
in his pores, cigarette smoke in his nostrils
or the pleasant rise of heat around his head.
...
When autumn turned
the trees and there was nothing
left to do but rake their musk,
...
Where the dead are buried with shells over their eyes
we're most disciplined, most weary.
When their statues come to life
...
Easy enough now that we've revised
the bestiary, captured it in pixels
and released it on the Net. Our demise
...
I'm not interested in sadness,
just a yard as elder earth,
a library of sunflowers
...
A tree of despair grows inside me, strengthens,
on days like today when I'm the worst
kind of lazybones and Olivia naps in my lap.
...
For the heron that rousts the swamp, thank you.
And for spiders shocked into gradual sleep.
The rakes near the fence remind me to thank you
...
They were a hard and practical people,
and when they said
they were willing to serve me,
...
David Roderick Biography
David Roderick (born 1970) is an award-winning American poet from Plymouth Massachusetts, who is an Assistant Professor at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. Previously, he lectured at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill as the Kenan Visiting Writer, at the The University of San Francisco and at Stanford University, where he also conducted classes for its EPGY summer program. His work has appeared in 32 Poems, Boulevard, Gulf Coast, Triquarterly, Ontario Review, Poetry Northwest, River Styx, Verse, The Antioch Review, The Hudson Review, The Missouri Review, The Massachusetts Review, and The Virginia Quarterly Review.)
The Best Poem Of David Roderick
As When Drought Imagines Fire
Loot my point of view,
hove my heart
free from its hived booth
though I know your smoke,
its black blossom,
is a substance I'll never become:
colors
of plaster and grass I've prepped
flawlessly, rivers I've whittled thin.
It's a personal matter to me, the wind.
But let it be our cathedral feeling:
a sculpture
of ash
dragging its robe over
the hills because of us,
because of me.
Yellow is hurried,
but red moves like a swarm
through toothpick homes,
pans over roofs,
where the ethos we child
from the ground
will blacken to ruin.
Let's glory
this roughened nap
of landscape,
this parched Arcadia,
with one nude-struck match and a breeze.
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4/18/2024 8:25:21 PM # 1.0.0.1119
