Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

Unsuitable for song as well as sense
the island flowers into slums
and skyscrapers, reflecting
precisely the growth of my mind.
I am here to find my way in it.
Sometimes I cry for help
But mostly keep my own counsel.
I hear distorted echoes
Of my own ambigious voice
and of dragons claiming to be human.
Bright and tempting breezes
Flow across the island,
Separating past from the future;
Then the air is still again
As I sleep the fragrance of ignorance.
How delight the soul with absolute
sense of salvation, how
hold to a single willed direction?
I cannot leave the island,
I was born here and belong.
Even now a host of miracles
hurries me a daily business,
minding the ways of the island
as a good native should,
taking calm and clamour in my stride.
...

All actors look for them-the defining moments
When what a character does is what he is.
The script may say, He goes to the door
And exits or She goes out the door stage left.

But you see your fingers touching the doorknob,
Closing around it, turning it
As if by themselves. The latch slides
Out of the strike-plate, the door swings on its hinges,
And you're about to take that step

...

The spider is an illusionist, tricking the world with delicate silk But they don't make my heart race fast Eight delicate legs, they glide past Making webs as silver as the moon Each thread a secret, spun in tune A little creep, but no fear here Spinning in tune every year The web sags slightly under the morning dews weight The webs shimmer, a quiet fate

As graceful as a rivers current, flowing through the grass The silent slither, seen as sinister, but I let it past Where they see danger, I see grace A misunderstood creature, no threat to embrace The snake sheds, in hope to forget the past knowing what he did would last Each scale a tear drop of their sad fate As it moves forward, shedding the weight In silence it slithers, a story to narrate

As high as the clouds, drifting beyond reach. A crown full of snow, a towering peak. As mighty as a king, with power unique Others shudder, scared of the climb Looking down with fear, frozen in time But I stand tall, embracing the view Unafraid of the height, with a sky so blue

The thunder roars, a heartbeat in the sky Pounding like a drum as the storm races by Others cower afraid of its sound But I stand near, drawn to its pound Like a mighty lion high in the sky Prowling from above, waiting for its next strike Hiding a heart of gold behind the clouds Afraid to shine, but still calls aloud Then as if sorry for its mighty reign It gifts us a rainbow, washing away the rain.
...

Now, we take the moon
into the middle of our brains
so we look like roadside stray cats
with bright flashlight-white eyes
in our faces, but no real ideas
of when or where to run.
We linger on the field's green edge
and say, Someday son, none of this
will be yours. Miracles are all around.
We're not so much homeless
as we are home free, penny-poor,
but plenty lucky for love and leaves
that keep breaking the fall. Here it is:
the new way of living with the world
inside of us so we cannot lose it,
and we cannot be lost. You and me,
are us and them, and it and sky.
It's hard to believe we didn't
know that before; it's hard to believe
we were so hollowed out, so drained,
only so we could shine a little harder
when the light finally came.
...

We were supposed to do a job in Italy
and, full of our feeling for
ourselves (our sense of being
Poets from America) we went
from Rome to Fano, met
the Mayor, mulled a couple
matters over. The Italian literati seemed
bewildered by the language of America: they asked us
what does "flat drink" mean? and the mysterious
"cheap date" (no explanation lessened

...

The glow in her eyes held me captive awhile,
Time slipped through my hands—I set sail for exile.
Beside lonely shadows, I wept like a child,
Leaving my breath where her gaze ran wild.

Thy gleam was enchanting, beyond all compare,
Thy hair poured fragrance like whispers in air.
I longed to touch, yet I stood in despair,
I was about to speak—but silence took care.


...

I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.

What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.

My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.
...

Up from the bronze, I saw
Water without a flaw
Rush to its rest in air,
Reach to its rest, and fall.

Bronze of the blackest shade,
An element man-made,
Shaping upright the bare
Clear gouts of water in air.


...

Sitting safe within my home
With food and drink at hand
My freezer fully stocked up
And with no panic-ed plans
My mind drifts onto others
Less fortunate than me
And how they must be feeling
The dispossessed and elderly
No children in the playground
No toilet paper in the stores

...