Limits to growth
out of doors and fields
the streets full of full people
out of leaves to speak with
and hills to take posture from
out of parts for God
out of world
Poems on the topic: field
Poems on the topic “field” on Poets.by.
Prospectors
where we met on occasion
mining abuses for very small stones
locked up in the dirt
the fields could not carry our bodies
lost and dangerous
whole places blown away
or driven here and there
like ships of lack
Farmhand
pain in my hand
from struggling with doors in the dirt
how I hold it now
like a leased field
where oranges fall in the evening
and few venture upon them
Reference point
where a flock
has troubled the fields
I drink alone
glad to see the town
way in the distance
Abandoned pasture
a field for cranes
instead of that ugliest beast
the soldier-like herd
whose face I have
Battlefield
do not hug too hard in a tent
keep warm at night
we go to war
to lie with butchers
the green or blue
sound of the field
some deep wound
calling you down
Lord Sand
Lord Sand left the sea
for the fields
I fear he is not well
that it was done for a joke
the weather is now very warm
an axe white with light
but Lord Sand they say
will lead in the darkest manner
mouth in mourning like a prince
believed to lay up hidden money
lord of anger
without any consciousness of his faults
he has no face but a grave
which I will not call my brother
I resolve to stand on my own legs
or fall
Marl
road lost in a field
lost in marl
a wound is my cure for anything
though it may ooze now and then
out with a tooth
having been in pain all day
I am raw
and old as the earth
The Yellow Field
Somewhere in that critical hour before supper
I lost my appetite, all of it,
just as my strict Nanna used to warn against
when she set out the sweets.
My other grandma would light a cigarette
& gently shoo us out of the house
so she & grandpa could enjoy their cocktail hour – ah! – alone.
Peace without children, yellow field
where I dissolve, finally, into a murmur of bees.
Given a field of yellow, the weather doesn’t matter.
Given water from the ground or the sky
& my own, too-corrosive minerals, given
a season of ice, fissures growing
wherever the rhizomes can get their fingers in past the knuckle,
prizing the dead stone open along its seam
of gleaming yellow: a field spreads
Killing field
the field at night
empty as good fortune
who is a little lame
on one foot
who has an owl ready for supper
in her heart
Glebe
dirt-drunk I find company
in the fields
giving nothing roundly
I live like a pig or a knot
Ornithography
a bird is the beginning
of many leaves
getting a book with blank paper
I saw a wing sunk in a field
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