Contemplative poems

Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.

ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

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High tide, the ocean shifts gears… withdrawing sand
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 56

First of July… rain sounds but no rain, back of the bus That tree thinks about what the wind might do next Third of July, ice blocks the pitcher’s spout… corkscrewed Diet Coke tanka: Projector: Ticks of the uptake reel spinning alone… story’s end wears thin A quiet heat…
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 55

Sat still his whole life… at the last second–one arm closer to the stars Marchers gone home… I watch steady storm spatter take the concrete Tenth week of the plague… they pull down their masks to talk over the dog Beard to his belt and one black boot halfway onto the bus Autumn of the heart… if we’re all dead, who takes stock of the curled leaves? Lightbulb not like dawn,
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 52

March, forgiven sins at last… a roast beef sandwich At my death… will even the wasted time comfort me? He speaks to me in the dreams I don’t have until summer The Air Force man holds a sapling, two feet from the root ball Thick thud, the cooper’s mallet– so much sleet! March…
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 49

By the prison gate lone brown napkin somersaults forward in the breeze Man in the wheelchair needs his umbrella back... sweat bulbs in my sleeves Twilight-tinged window scent of cooking liver three hours to Sunday "O, no one loves me!" a game for my mind woolly countless eons One shoe, a tin cup spoiled celery for breakfast shadow of the church Madman screams again
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 47

A wheel, broken but not so you would notice dazzles travelers Pullman porter sits open-handed and still his eyes, twin spirals Solitary breath in the fetid men’s room stink doctors long gone A branch’s shadow wavers at 3 am over the dead lamp The politician says it isn’t either/or as I hide from the storm One dead movie star’s
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 46

My window ticks once at a brushstroke from the rain wind keepsakes the rest But how many friends can you have, if all you see fills all that you know? Banana milk, drunk years ago, long-dead diner returns to my tongue The night crests morning only my two stinky feet keep me company Teakettle whistles, but it’s in another room along with my mind How proud of my words!
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 41

He didn’t shoot me for looking at him funny so here I am now I’ll file my report the whiskey ran off with my night leaving splintered sun That pecking pigeon could it wander through the doors of the southbound train? A flagger, shrouded in bright orange; excavator waits for the whistle And I’m lumped in with this whole busload, young to old watching the fall storm Hoodied, with gnarled hands
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 40

Ash tree scratches air outside the window still lit after 3 am One bright orange balloon from the bunch, lost to the wind… the sky’s only color Two woolly afghans curled by knees on the bed kept close; that’s enough Starlight, come how far to glisten at the edges of my open blinds History is made about two blocks south of here I’m warm in the dark History? Foolish.
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 38

Thursday happy hour tabletop, sticky with beer a saint, undisturbed Bus driver, stone-faced under a handlebar ‘stache lets the cyclist live Power, knowing that you never get this moment to regurgitate “I am still freezing” from Tolstoy’s summation of his Russian winter That someone would come along but no, really you have to save yourself Seahawks umbrella
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 33

The library’s doors laid flat for their new fall paint yellow tape guards maw Read the Tao Te Ching and mop up cigarette butts in time, convergence Ah, but how much time… suppose I haven’t the strength to while away Now Posthumous toilets wrenched sweatily curbside on crooked revue Dark at 1:20 (pm, that is): Straight into summer-ending storm Mecca Cafe fries
ContemplativeAndrew Hamlin

Haiku 31

Dying alone? Well, what is it but dying, plain, plus a codicil? She told me to leave and I’m the only witness to one good deed done. Those bedbugs again, spread through our laundry room grime whom shall they favor? Summer sensation dry lower lip pulls back from sticky incisors. The old man’s left hand, top of the driver’s headrest slight shake as brakes squeak. She ties on a branch

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