Pomes

                                                                                       

Welcome to my Poems Page.

From the book Norton Anthology of Modern Potery

A Poet

Attentive eyes, fantastic head, assessing a mint he does

not need, nor writs to sup or dine, nor pledges in the 

rosy wine.

For loud acclaim he does not care, by the august rich or fair, not for

smart, pilgrims from affair, curious on where his hauntings are.

But, sooner or later when you hear that he has doffled this wrinkled

gear, some evening at the first star ray, come to his pause and say:

Whenever this message - glad or grim, Two bright souled women

clave to him" Stand and say that while the day decades It will be

word enough of praise.

In the Moonlight

"o lonely workman standing there in a dream why you stare and stare at her

grave and no other grave where there. If your great gaunt eyes so importune Her

soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon maybe you'll raise her phantom soon"

Why fool, It is what I would rather see

than all the living folk there be; But alas there is so much

joy for me.

"Ah - she was one you loved, not doubt through good and evil through

the rain and drought, and when she passed, all the sun went out?

Nay, She was the women I did not love whom all the other ranked above, whome during 

her life I thought not nothing of.|

Ploughing on Sunday

The white coks tale

tosses in the wind the turkey cocks

tale glitters in the sun

Water in the Fields the wind pours

down and  Feathers flare, and

Bluster in the wind.

Remous blow your horn!

Im ploughing on sunday,

ploughing North America.

Blow your horn!Tum-ti-turn

Ti-tum-tum-tum! The turkey - cocks

tale spreads the sun. The white

clocks tail streams the moon. Water in the 

fields. The wind pours down.

Grey Room

Although you sit in a room that is gray

expect for the silver of the sstraw, paper and

pick at your pale white gown; or 

lift one of the green beads, of your neckless, to

let it fall or gaze at the green fan printed with the

red brances ofo red willow; of one finger, move

the lelaf of the the bowl the leaf that has fallen

from the branches of the forsythia beside you...

What is all this? I know how furiously your 

heart if breaking.

Its a strange courage you give me, ancient star

shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!

Shine alone , shine shine like the bronze that reflects neither

my face nor any inner part of being shine like that 

mirrors nothing.

Lend no part to any humanity that suffuse you it's own right.

Be not chimera of morning half man half star

Be not intelligence, like a windows Bird or an Old Horse.