Search

Search results

Jack Spicer, river, in English Clear filters

AnxiousJack Spicer

The Moon and Lady Death

The moon has marble teeth How old and sad she looks! There is a dry river There is a hill without grass There is a dead oak tree Near a dry river. Lady Death, wrinkled, Goes looking for custom At the heels of a crowd Of tenuous phantoms. Near the dead oak tree Near the dry river There is a fair without trumpets And tents made of shadow. She sells them dry paint Made of wax and torture,
SadJack Spicer

Song for September

In the distant night the children are singing: A little river And a colored fountain THE CHILDREN: When will our hearts come back from your holiday? I: When my words no longer need me. THE CHILDREN: You have left us here to sing the death of your summer A little river And a colored fountain What September flowers do you hold in your hand? I: A bloody rose and a white lily. THE CHILDREN: Dip them in the water of an old song A little river And a colored fountain
DreamyJack Spicer

Narcissus

Child, How you keep falling into rivers. At the bottom there's a rose And in the rose there's another river. Look at that bird. Look That yellow bird. My eyes have fallen down Into the water. My God, How they're slipping! Youngster! —— And I'm in the rose myself. When I was lost in water I Understood but won't tell you.
SadJack Spicer

Narcissus

Poor Narcissus Your dim fragrance And the dim heart of the river I want to stay at your edge Flower of love Poor Narcissus Ripples and sleeping fish Cross your white eyes Songbirds and butterflies Japanese mine I so tall beside you Flower of love Poor Narcissus How wide-awake the frogs are They won't stay out of the surface In which your madness and my madness
RomanticJack Spicer

Forest

You want me to tell you The secret of springtime -- And I relate to that secret Like a high-branching firtree Whose thousand little fingers Point a thousand little roads. I will tell you never, my love, Because the river runs slowly But I shall put into my branching voice The ashy sky of your gaze. Turn me around, brown child Be careful of my needles. Turn me around and around, playing At the well pump of love. The secret of springtime. How I wish I could tell you!

Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem

Or try: