Robert Francis Poems
|1.||The Base Stealer||4/27/2015|
|2.||In Memoriam: Four Poets||1/3/2003|
|4.||New England Mind||1/3/2003|
|5.||Squash In Blossom||1/3/2003|
|7.||Fair And Unfair||1/13/2003|
|8.||On A Theme By Frost||1/3/2003|
|9.||Thoreau In Italy||1/3/2003|
|13.||Hallelujah: A Sestina||1/3/2003|
|14.||Farm Boy After Summer||1/3/2003|
|17.||Paper Men To Air Hopes And Fears||1/3/2003|
Two boys uncoached are tossing a poem together,
Overhand, underhand, backhand, sleight of hand, everyhand,
Teasing with attitudes, latitudes, interludes, altitudes,
High, make him fly off the ground for it, low, make him stoop,
Make him scoop it up, make him as-almost-as possible miss it,
Fast, let him sting from it, now, now fool him slowly,
Anything, everything tricky, risky, nonchalant,
Anything under the sun to outwit the prosy,
Over the tree and the long sweet cadence down,
Over his head, make him scramble to pick up the meaning,
And now, like a posy, a ...
The winter apples have been picked, the garden turned.
Rain and wind have picked the maple leaves and gone.
The last of them now bank the house or have been burned.
None are left upon the trees or on the lawn.
Green and tall as ever it grew in spring the grass
Grows not too tall, will not be cut again this year.
Geraniums in bloom behind the windowglass
Are safe. Fall has fallen yet winter is not yet here.