William Graham Poems

In the misty mornings,
When the birds’ sweet calls ring,
I am filled with primordial dread
That the past is never dead.
...

In my twelfth year, my declaration of independence
Came as I sunk into a worn red leather chair
Under the spinning fan in a public library
On a blistering Midwest summer day.
...

Arctic moon—you rise like a cold memory
From the bleak black boiling sea.

Arctic moon—your yellow light dances
...

She had a maple forest smell.
She was a celebrant of light.
In her polished eyes did dwell
An appetite for delight.
...

He soared like a hawk over Central Park.
He glided gracefully into his Hamptons home.
At a whim he would on a weekend embark
To beach in the south of France, where he roamed
...

Amidst the times that should be full of mirth,
When sparkling rays of sun sweeten the earth,
Evil intrudes to blacken the bright sky.
A child dies and morality is defied.
...

When the phone rings, do not fear;
It will be the rich man who calls.
It will not be my voice you hear.
...

Please pass me a sharp knife
So I can end this holiday conversation
With a surgical slice to my wrist.
...

Dusk has dropped to its knees;
I see the last sparks of the sun in your eyes.

We watch the sharp stars slide
...

Will I weep when you are gone?
I am not a man for tears.
Will people think I am cold
Or nobly stoic as the mourners
...