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Philip Booth Poems
Lie back daughter, let your head be tipped back in the cup of my hand. Gently, and I will hold you. Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream
Beside you, Lying down at dark, My waking fits your sleep.
As long as you know you don't know, not knowing's not what hurts,
STOP LOOK LISTEN as gate stripes swing down count the cars hauling distance upgrade through town:
Like a Woman
Like a woman I loved, I say words to the dark, not to suffer.
One Man's Wife
Not that he promised not to windowshop, or refuse free samples; but he gave up exploring warehouse bargains, and forgot the trial offers he used to mail away for.
Passage Without Rites
Homing, inshore, from far off-soundings. Night coming on. Sails barely full. The wind, in its dying, too light to lift us against
That you are moving so far will not, as you say, tear me apart; it is having
After the Rebuilding
After the rebuilding was done, and the wood stove finally installed, after the ripping out of walls, tearing back to its beams the house he'd lived in, frozen, for over
Still weeks to ice-out in upcountry lakes. Here on the coast, salt-ice
Sunday, late. The winter dark already coming down. Inside the woodshed door, an early FM tuned to Bangor. Half as old as the backyard oak he's felled—felled, fitted, split—an old man mad for music lugs the chunks in.
Long Afternoons In Dakota
Some plainly hot. Lala, a Pakistani long in Grand Forks, much given to early American sea-chests, takes
Comments about Philip Booth
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Lie back daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you. Spread
your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls. A dead-
man's float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe
me, when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.