Getting religion
rain all morning
hardly ten people in church
coffee-house like a theater
where the play is not well acted
on my way back through the alley
a couple of pretty whores
I go into the house
as quiet as money
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Playing for keeps
working a kite
the burden of power in my hand
almost out but easily
brought to again
her body like a peak invites me
to teem rather than fall
news came last night
of a fever for land
a mad thing
the business of selling places
stones to keep for rarity
in the mouth
Sweet nothing
this morning is a clear ruin
a mortal barb
words make anything
to raise disquiet
but the word devil
that word full of world
is a nothing as sweet
as my first little doubt
Gut
I observe how ordinary
is this miracle of a laborer
swallowing down into his belly
all threats and promises
like a better world
so truly round
and so little hurt to any man in it
Immortal bird
mouth gone down
towards the owl
she makes us see our passing
is common as ash
fine hands over the night
sing of what we serve
the stuff and flutter of living
more than others
Last light
perfect as church
making an end of work
the evening light
A walk in the park
a park keeper told me
what the earth is
cockle shells and weather
dust and dead beds
a face for
the bountiful world
which we must of necessity
break in pieces
with words and blows
and a degree of madness
but what is the unhappiness in that
if the light is good
surely the land will never suffer
it is so great still
and every bird so quiet
like a hole the rain drowned
Two-dimensional
clock-talk is how
I ought to learn
but one-eyed
I understand lines
and how to like
a great wrong card
Complementarity
ice and water exchange days
like a parliament of one
doubt will provide a new home
for that which I believe is true
Decline and fall
I wonder at the whole
design of ruin
evening is the same
but more portable
like a quiet pleasure
enlightening the body
Nimrod
who on a hunt
would not be wooed by lions
I never could have thought
there had been upon earth
a man so little curious
the world is all cards and ash
Identity crisis
who am I
to live in unity
denying all the others
we carried with us
the mask remembering
things acted years ago
in my sleep
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