Immortals of the Wine Cup
A red-faced divinity, the fool
who won a quart of sack.
He and I talk beauty
till we’re both angry,
then walk in the fields.
Poemas sobre el tema: field
Poemas sobre el tema «field» en Poets.by.
Blood moon
A field in which
the king ate an owl—
old, amber.
Night bled,
no better lodging.
Mr. P.’s poetry
I walk in fields broad and common,
journey one inch,
stand in church till dark.
Then wine, two bottles; a rose and no wit.
Let my pitiful verses get a laugh.
My folly has friends, I note.
I play the fool.
Conflicts of interest
a field is in love with the sea
as a ship is with land
where will we make war
guided by lies
where finish the hanging
or withdraw
Risk assessment
the rich fear too great a liberty
hands singing in the fields
without calling God
to make a new ground
without the price of order
bound up in a book
Hunting ground
I go out hunting
from an urge to see
though never to lie in a field
in idleness is almost
to miss the truth of the place
in the guise of quiet
Cowboy haiku
noon field—
I find nobody
and a horse
after foolish talk
the discourse
of rain
I keep
a great distance
in my truck
Mole
I went to ground, ready to break
the gray clock.
My mouth is a warren.
Bring me a field,
a bitter plain to bezzle in
and fear rank as wine.
From the Neolithic
Noon broke.
I walked alone, taking
notice of the ground—
a future of mine
which I shall be glad
to exchange,
raising our roof higher
to enlarge
our first moor.
I had a fine walk
in the fields—
the home I ate.
Peace time
A whole year goes
to the war with sand.
We remember one another
going to play house
and walk in the fields,
eat cheese-cake and enter
an hour’s ear.
Icing
ice settling in the fields—
after our walk
we eat cake
Alter ego
In the morning
he shouted at the fields
(the crooked fellow)
walked up and down
(the churchyard cock)
broke Barebone’s windows
and went home
(my dog-brother)