Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

In the pond in the park
all things are doubled:
Long buildings hang and
wriggle gently. Chimneys
are bent legs bouncing
on clouds below. A flag
wags like a fishhook
down there in the sky.

The arched stone bridge
is an eye, with underlid
in the water. In its lens
dip crinkled heads with hats
that don't fall off. Dogs go by,
barking on their backs.
A baby, taken to feed the
ducks, dangles upside-down,
a pink balloon for a buoy.

Treetops deploy a haze of
cherry bloom for roots,
where birds coast belly-up
in the glass bowl of a hill;
from its bottom a bunch
of peanut-munching children
is suspended by their
sneakers, waveringly.

A swan, with twin necks
forming the figure 3,

...

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast


...

'In the depths of my mind, where shadows play
A world of forbidden thoughts, in darkness they lurk
The shadows creep, they crawl, they seep
Into my soul, where fears and doubts haunt me

What terrors will they unleash, when they finally break free?
Will they consume me whole, like a darkness that's me?
And I'll be forever lost, in a sea of my own shadows

Where the light of my sanity, will flicker out to sea

...

Come to me when grief is over,
When the tired eyes,
Seek thy cloudy wings to cover
Close their burning skies.

Come to me when tears have dwindled
Into drops of dew,
When the sighs like sobs re-kindled
Are but deep and few.

Hold me like a crooning mother,
Heal me of the smart;
All mine anguish let me smother
In thy brooding heart.
...

Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.


...

In a room where dreams are drawn,
Where light and knowledge blend at dawn,
I stand before young hearts and minds,
Guiding them as wisdom binds.
Each desk, a world, a story told,
Of hopes, of fears, of futures bold.
They look at me with eager eyes,
Expecting answers from the skies.
I see in them reflections true
Of who I was, of all I knew.

...

Between going and staying
the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can’t be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.
...

To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,
Scented and warm against my beating breast;

To whisper soft and quivering your name,
And drink the passion burning in your frame;

To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,
And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak

Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,

...

I'll see to it,
I'll see to it that hope still stands,
that hands still reach,
that hearts still dare.

I'll see to it,
I'll see to it that light breaks through,
that wounds may heal,
that time still cares.


...