Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen

Where will I sleep
How will I ride
What will I hunt

Where can I go
without my mount
all eager and quick
How will I know
in thicket ahead
is danger or treasure
when Body my good
bright dog is dead

How will it be
to lie in the sky
without roof or door
and wind for an eye

With cloud for shift
how will I hide?
...

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,

...

Whispers of the Morning Sun
Golden rays upon my face,
A gentle touch, a warm embrace.
The morning hums a tender tune,
Softly kissed by fading moon.

The birds awaken, light and free,
Singing songs of harmony.
The flowers sway in whispered cheer,
Welcoming a day so clear.

...

In Spanish he whispers there is no time left.
It is the sound of scythes arcing in wheat,
the ache of some field song in Salvador.
The wind along the prison, cautious
as Francisco's hands on the inside, touching
the walls as he walks, it is his wife's breath
slipping into his cell each night while he
imagines his hand to be hers. It is a small country.

There is nothing one man will not do to another.
...

Your whole way with shining evil's coal
Margaret, they all do bravely judge.
What's your fault? The body sinned as such,
Innocent you have retained your soul.

To all people it's the same, I know,
To all nodded with a blurry smile.
And with this sorrowful semi-smile
You have wept yourself long time ago.


...

I see your eyes like a sky
But the shade of, is not blue.
It's an orange sunset sky
Where in I'm out of the blue.

Your voice is brave and so warm
Your hand lay down on my chest
I feel so safe and no harm
You made me out of my chest


...

Unaware of my crime
they stood me in the dock.

I was sentenced to life....
without her.

Strange trial.
No judge.
No jury.

I wonder who my visitors will be.
...

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

...

Good morning, -mum-
In the morning I used to say.
Good evening, -mum-
In the evening I used to say.
When I came back from school,
I'd shout your name down every hall—
But now I trace the empty walls,
And no reply comes back at all.

The clock still ticks, the sun still falls,

...