Victuals
My mind the victualer
counts my desires—
my wife at dinner
and days full of talk,
my affairs,
my colored suit.
News of our losses.
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Prospector
I find cries
where they were words:
in a lung.
I give the remains to a book,
work all night.
Internal dialogue
Home all day
with my pent-up talk,
this ear like a state
and if I have ink
I reckon myself a world.
At sunset
packing up glass
to send into the country—
an amber evening
Enclosure
Morning on the moor:
the town is in possession
of no place, enclosed it
and could not stay
the night.
Music lesson
Music: the first clock,
before time had discourse
with arms.
A bridge in the night.
Fossilized
All day in amber,
I promise the aster
some air
for prayer.
Miners
Out of the old coal hole,
new and clean
at 3:00 o’clock
the colliers see in the dark,
garden some ill wood
and believe in little.
Retreat
I took to a high
place and stayed
till I was forced by
a hole in my coat
to come home.
I almost wrote.
Interiority complex
For kindness I stumble
and tell not heart but harp,
give the country of my mind
some night notes.
Twickenham
I went to Twickenham to sit
I went to Twickenham to think
alone in a closet
I played on my flageolet
till the bell-man came by with his bell
and left my wife and the maid a-washing still.
Nothing day
[Nothing
going to dinner to hear news to his house to my house to the coffee house
going on.]
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