Division of labor
an old door
keeping in the quiet
and the garden as still as a table
at a feast of stone
who might cook in there
and who eat
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Reformed loner
I miss myself
alone before I had
things to talk about
making trouble with bells
in place of hands
Otherwise
Up to my ears
in accidents &
old weather,
the no-news
that rarely manages
to be good,
I begin to feel
a little like one
of those tablets
from Moses’
first trip into
the clouds —
fragmented,
impossible —
while overhead,
the pink Sinai
Blue pill
at dinner I bite a stone
it is as fresh
as an aspersion
it will do me no harm
as a creature to stay
in a hole all night
full of loss
I love the light which is
in love with no one
Recollection
morning is a sober ointment
who understands the world at first sight
I remember a thin hard season
people in the streets
but I did not understand them
singing
in a sort of haze
The true people
when words passed for dinner
thinking was a fine old cheese
and the Way had no road
but my head in my hands
wing marrying wing
a contract with the present
Memento mori
dinner on the boil
it is a miracle to me how
like a changeling
beyond all imitation of a face
I am old today
Pelt
daylight fox
not like a neck fashion
but wild as the ivy
on a high burn
Coyotes
cold to the west where
they like to sit and wail
like no grief
in any sea
or the wonderful ears
of our little dog
Incommensurable
who but the body
could speak about sin
each of us taking on
a mistaken beauty
like the name of a god
in common letters
High tide
morning sea
the din of her business
in my ears
Confessional pitfall
I enter my journal
on my knees
it says you are not
fit to suffer
you know how often
you have killed time
by running after other
true selves
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