Getting away from it all
on a wet cold day in the country
the poor appear far
I distrust nature
but not her miscarriages
living in the world
like a drawing of a tongue at a bonfire
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
The News at Four A.M.
I wake to a slow dripping
outside my window,
click on the news,
then remember
the recycling has to go out.
My feet find
the path without
a flashlight. I wade
through faintly visible fog,
a soundproof room
inhabited by the automatic
lusts of insects.
Halfway to the road,
I come to a halt.
There in the darkness
at my feet,
Reinvention
done with our only sugar
and only me
we hunt a home like the best spoil
walk into the city to be changed
I am ashamed to have seen
a common town
Cruise ship
on a river in Norway
well lit
the land looking back
Housekeeper
she has fish on the table
and little time to little purpose
taking little notice
of the little green yard
and the night like any money
will call things into question
and everywhere the people
being forced to sell their ills
News that stays
all change is news
a quiet stir to the oak
and the poet
if not conceited
and particular as water
in her loves
Harboring
I have a journal of observations
of the morning port
where I go to take the air
content to rust
my mind is a hole
full of little things
Fast food
a sandwich for dinner
in a car park
there is a test every day
of how to live
In Cuba
the old monstrous god
of bodkin and thimble
broke open till all was out
I saw no paper question it
as silver as music
the water here
we find the town beside the fort
a contingency unsettled in sand
news here in Cuba signifies little
but to say that something comes
Concurrence
the honest body is wiser
than any word
a presence without any reply
but the world
no novice to concurrence
it gives great content
and I am glad to be so
having done all my lying
Introvert
gentlemen of fine discourse
like birds on a line
I am silent with my memory
of being stone
Beachcomber
morning like a counterfeit bill
but the sea is the sea
a dozen white gloves go quiet
playing at cards
I walk a while
attending the talk of water
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