Fallen
Thistledown woven
spider-net
abandoned nest
a cup
upturned
under the wrong tree
light as breath
hedge-fallen
gloveback
nature retrieves
her mess of twigs
grasses
meticulously
bit-by-bit
In wind
In liquid air.
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
Blackbird
The way
Blackbird
swallows
the silver
phial of
morning —
Her voice,
a water
-drop
Precarious Migratory Spectacular
Stone weighting my palm
has sprung a cathedral
heart jumps
walking in the flesh of its surpassing grace
groin-vaulted and high as
no bird ever escaped to soar this
high-up—
seamless and
there is no blood
no feather
no bone—
stone cannot make the bird.
Periphery
Be near enough to the periphery
to discern the wing-settle-sounds
small birds make in thickets,
their halls —
Near enough for red to insist
that you regard it as haw,
rose-leavings
Know, bird-panic sounds
differently to wing-settle’s
soft-rest after the flurry of
flight,
they say —
It held —
Maybe there was no yarn
and you hung the bird-bell
from a delicate thread
How and Why
In a former life,
I was a fish,
eyes wide,
gulping
meaning.
Now I wait,
empty,
a pinpoint
of breath,
a sliver
of infinity.
Mnemosyne
Men dream into flesh
between long nights,
weaving their breath
into memory,
and believing
that memory
mirrors the world,
as if men's names
were not just water
singing softly
to be heard.
Early Spring
It was that time of the year, cold and bleak, old dry leaves still on the ground, patches of snow
lingering everywhere in the landscape. I had passed the old cemetery hundreds of times. This
time there was a hint of sun.
early spring
rust down the side
of a gravestone
Apple Blossoms
An old tree hangs over our dirt driveway so that it brushes our car as we drive past. Last year,
our first year in this country house, I admired its blooming. This year the gardener says it is
leaning because some of its roots have worn away.
wet apple blossoms
on the dark branches
on the dark earth
Lunar Eclipse
Lying on my back on the floor I look up through the tangle of trees to the last slice of the
luminous full moon. All that crowded my mind to the brim this especially busy day
vanished. And then the strange radiating burnished orange ball, so far away and yet so
close in all its strangeness.
lunar eclipse
all of the stars
so much brighter
November River
November river
perfect house reflections
one by one
September Sea Wind:
September sea wind:
the fading exhalations
of the orca
A Vase for Allison
From Montreal
Came a flattened tube
filled with a poster
of a picasso print
(such a descent
into affordability).
I have no such treasures for you.
I have no reason
to search for gestures
of forgiveness.
Instead
find a flower
and,
the next time you visit,
drop it softly where I will find it.
Afterwards,
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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