poetry: results 409–432 of 735

The flurries begin

whitening the strip

of grass.

We want the gray old

winter to climb down

through the smoking pines

astride his white mule

to forgive us each separately.

measures

the width

of her shoulders,

washes

with a clean sponge…

the foreigners of the thought of Richard were in the top of each

emitted tree the government gathered…

The Richard thought foreigner by each government…

richard thought aliens were at the top of every government-issued tree.

Here, tourists sift sand between toes, not knowing

salt makes straw of hair. I explore the ocean for one

of Christa McAuliffe's strands.

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,

Before high-pilèd books, in charact'ry

Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain…

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;

There are four seasons in the mind of man:—

He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear

Takes in all beauty with an easy span…

Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art—

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite…

Four boys stand

four years old, in the boat.

A fifth floats, face swayed to bottom,

near the prow.

Not always another chance is coming. Not

if you are lit on fire and keep the sad news

to yourself.

bliss

comes lightly and leaves

quickly, leaves nothing

much behind.

TV ads for new trucks

more horsepower, more durability, more torque.

a stranger, a near stranger…

She can only imagine cars

on the highway. Thinks they must glint like boats

on a blue harbor. She can only imagine boats

on a blue harbor.

Your mother calls on what would have been your 24th birthday. Yanking each word from the flowerbed of her gut…

the man empties his angel, meets a worn version of his daughter's face…

Perhaps today's wind will release sheep onto a mountain you love…

& if he died I would hold love

in the cracks below the heart, a caged

hand waiting to enfold its animal…

There is a mother that loves you

despite the sum of your parts.

She really is hefting gravel and gravel

just to heft gravel.

If I had a fedora's

starched heart I'd stir a horn in the streets

to announce our bourgeois surrender.

Never a lover

            I kept you

in the feretory of my heart

alongside other relics…

            Postcards from Eugene

suggestive of definition

                        fate, an odor

from the table beside me…

admission meaning death

at the hands we love…