Walking therapy
who is in mourning
who with an ear is not
but not seeing how to help it
I walk to the park
to the great elm
and walnut filled with stories
and in a ruined garden
a little girl singing
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Practice makes perfect
I am at any time
ready for vacation
practicing to be simple
imagine the prizes we desire
in the present
this very body prepared
for his journey
down in the grave
Three short poems to inaugurate a new pocket notebook
ravens
climbing into
each other’s sky
circling crying
out
above the road bank where
the hepatica has just come into bloom,
the corpse of a porcupine
carrion beetles clamber
through the quills
butterflies cluster on what’s left of its mouth
a hole spanned by the long, curved
railings of its teeth
& down below, the pale blue blossoms
swaying on their stems
Instructions for fate
writing no in a green book
in rooms which are not yet
ready for us
writing let me be
Donation
give me to a body farm
a body to watch day and night
a no-body more other than a dog
better than my own vexed home
Forest for the trees
who will see the forest
’round that melancholy tree the brain
that goes to the light
with a thorn
Hole-y
the perfect hole of a state
should please the Lord
sick with work
is a mind as free as the world
as the hole under my hand
the hole I find myself to be
Social medium
public as a door
my private self
because I would be
anything I might do
heaven be off
let me fit myself
Provisions
saved by art
which puts us into doubt
all my cake will be dough
like night returned to a wing
Those that from a long way off look like flies
like the cold leaving me
how small
the sight of ships
Woodlot
the sun behind the timber
where I have hopes
of profit
New morning
morning coffee
the art of night is to go back
to morrow
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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