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Self examination
to see what little I am
to see an absent satisfaction
close to the dirt
to see inside a machine
to see what things
make a man himself
to see how fine the machines are
to see me wanting like a bad king
to possess death
Poems on the topic: dirt
Poems on the topic “dirt” on Poets.by.
Gloria mundi
who bled less than the blade
but more than the dirt
we were mighty
and it is all dead news
Landlubbers
the dirt was our ship
lost beneath the frost
I find myself in cold weather
begin to burn all over
Geology in brief
no wind in a stone
only cold and time
dirt getting all weary work to do
like us is loose
Glebe
dirt-drunk I find company
in the fields
giving nothing roundly
I live like a pig or a knot
Swidden
last night’s rain
missed my lips
I have the weather
in a bag now
stranger than feet in the dirt
this thin hoe
Populist
I put my hand among
many hands, indifferent
to the king. Who
did I respect?
The rain.
Dirt.
Farmer
Home and barn in the evening.
I walk the fields, now all in dirt—
a magnificent supper.
Civilizing mission
I go to the Indies
on business with Christ
in the ship, and I an ape
not knowing the dirt.
Self-made man
I work to begin
the making of me
out of dirt and morning,
a face of water, an old mask
of my father’s, and three
or four discourses
for children.
Under the bridge
sitting alone in the dirt another’s bed
Missed connection
she and I passing in the night
now dirt
now wind
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