Early autumn
my little trouble
making me lie at the office—
morning mist
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Swan’s way
For the old swan,
staying in bed is
the custom; best
to rest where the sun
crossed the water.
To the old swan,
we tower and boat
like blind
stairs of lead.
In the past
Long past:
cold as a god of business.
Past of which I eat,
almost cloyed.
Past in our own feast,
the lock altered.
Appearance
mind troubled
for my key that I lost—
the first pear
Singular
I used to wake without my work
without a double all day
sitting in me
Oak woods
winter forest—
the vast iron-work of time called trees
Open schedule
My clock
is the only tune.
Nothing passes without time—
no days,
no wine.
Freight
the evening train
I hear a mouse under
my table
Leveler
we must find order always
in the ordinary multitude
I view the private letter
that is a well-kept grave
above us the wind
unacquainted with sex and fear
the stars guided by nothing
but the barking of a dog
Vista
the body of a model
is a safe croft
but the best place could endure
every ordinary survey
and so a dish of larks
after the wasteland
Diagnosis
I found myself out
of order and cold
like a boat in the trees,
silver and ancient.
I ought to fall
towards the shore, landing
somewhere among the reeds
like a clear fruit of water.
Multiplication
up early
like water
being myself only
(a mathematics
that I cannot understand)
being the rain coming into my house
being open
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