The enemy of the good
Old papers trouble me,
like some high country
where all are peaceable
but against us. I draw
things as they are, glad
that my mind is troubled.
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Friend of the devil
Ugly as a faction,
I took to the heat
and the devil saw me.
He gave me
myself.
In the rain
The rain found us; I am glad.
It has given me a land to tenant, close
and quiet.
Ursa Major
We see
a convenient part.
The great bear
has nowhere to fall
and a moth is present at his dying.
News junkie
Morning papers exchange discontent
for a great store of tattle
and God knows what—
a mad theater.
Think of the trouble we go through
to see what will remain
of all our expectations.
Naturalist
In my cold boots
I come to a field
and a vineyard
and a garden:
no flowers.
Back to the fen
in which I found
all things.
After arguing
In the evening we came to agreement
as a barn owl to a barn.
Farmer (2)
We put in the ground
our business, our absence, ourselves—
nothing but light
in the evening fields.
Farmer
Home and barn in the evening.
I walk the fields, now all in dirt—
a magnificent supper.
Horticultured
the garden gives me nothing
I am glad
after love or great disorder
in an unknown nest
I could be quiet
Bilateral
I made myself a pair:
my clock and I,
my corpse and I
set forth together,
greedy to see.
Enigma
Is the city a thing—
one house, a chest
of drawers—
or a singing master,
singing to the office
and the home?
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