Moleish
the business of the mole
is to face the dark
bruise of home
and not take wing
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Late riser
a morning born in the evening
I am not yet up and out
of my mind I am in doubt
how to rise
in or over the body
of land I am lost in
Forward planning
for death I am making
up my accounts
having just my little tongue
and a little talk
a little house very pretty
and a little moon
and in the cards
an opportunity to be
Haecceity
morning is in India
and tomorrow the candle will be sold
for the same old light
to see the fruit in my hand
Earthed
lying long I make
my heart light
the ground my antidote
to bed
Quietism
I found a sort of trick
never to love a fallen flag
ignoble but
I can live in the world
with my God stick
my heart of private night
and my old rupture
Anatomy lesson
her dead body is opened
like the king’s business
they see themselves
in a royal library of meat
divertisement though it be deep
is a strange perfection in tragedy
Unproductive
trumpets for the corn
not the mist
who am I here
an old ore dug out
from under rubbish
Goodnight moon
white white
the ground all snow
moon shining
with little violence
in every motion
she seemed still
goodnight to my chamber
and all my books
my name is a job
I wanted done
Polar opposites
love is a strange sun
a white bear lost at sea
I am never troubled by angry words
and I like being in the dark
excess of light makes eyes believe
vicious and impossible things
like little kings making a peace
out of the dead
Vulpes vulpes
not seeing me
the city fox’s
full ears
Mutability
I go for a walk in the sand
that everywhere changes its place
I believe nothing
eyes can hurt the winter
in green spectacles
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