Contemplative poems

Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.

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Dave Bonta

Father to the man

paper ready to be a little boat regular and finely contrived money dead as the house I intend to dwell in making bricks and other poor music and the books like citizens old and upright to a boy things appear greater than to a man now I account it good fortune to follow a dog

Dave Bonta

Revision

in the morning a new draft of the lines in the body I study hard to understand it but desire brings many hands and more than I expected the letters feast or fast

Dave Bonta

What truth was

a great rant I give in defense of what was truth an ingenuous sort of entertainment without much cost

Dave Bonta

Open-air cure

all the dull work that may kill I do dully I am going into the country the old marl of knowing how I ought to walk to be repaired with any humor with any other time

Dave Bonta

Convenience

love if convenient would be high treason a peace made on disadvantageous terms with break-up and feud a room is the last enemy to all the world falling from time into desire no hand or pinion full of consequence should crowd into such a hole

Dave Bonta

Swidden

last night’s rain missed my lips I have the weather in a bag now stranger than feet in the dirt this thin hoe

Dave Bonta

Mind-altering

after a little music my thoughts differ like pointing at a sword or coming to France to protest capable of great trust no false parts ever hold

Dave Bonta

Active voice

a grammar of rain is like the open road a full thing whose voice I am nothing to

Dave Bonta

Testament

in wool the down in timber time in a will a testament

Dave Bonta

Now or never

measuring pleasure I have found thin things and fat let desires not trouble me which are too little for any use but I must not blame now for never the longest unpleasant afternoon

Dave Bonta

Learning curve

after measuring all inches in a foot I learn to walk after my appointment with the door I stand still and suffer no discontent

Dave Bonta

Rumiesque

I value nothing more than error desire life before the service of courage the old must suspect that the mad motions of the heart serve no purpose but love or hatching the sudden motion of a cellar door long kept locked and half the wine drunk as a remedy

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