A formal feeling
through great grief is a narrow road
to gratitude for goodness
work and family
I miscarry a sea and cannot bear
my new day alone
Poems on the topic: grief
Poems on the topic “grief” on Poets.by.
A certain slant of light
I search my ears for clear words
no spittle or rattle
eyes shut like a stone
lips working on why
I must give thanks
the more unthankful my life
in the little blue chamber of grief
I could not sleep nor wake
Sad times
I wake by 4:00 o’clock
to any day but my own
here a forest here a clearing
here a dead body and his imp of a fly
it is midsummer in the country of grief
nothing is done but trade
dinner for dinner
a fancy tune for a glass
and sorry for however
present a loss
I hear that Parliament is against
the scandal of nature
which if too much provoked
shall go to bed
Grieving
My great grief
is an insufferably simple supper,
a rough kingdom.
It will not come
to much.
Shorelines
I walk home
all the herring coming out
with a grace as great as the night
after the work
of the house is done
this sudden grief
In mourning
Church is a dull ache,
having an urge to hit an urn
laced with silver.
War after war
we lay in a bed so soft
I could not sleep.
Widower
down into the cellar
with a cane—I talk
to her things
Aftermath
open table
the moon takes every seat
makes the glassware glisten
and the cutlery glitter
or is this not linen
are we not in the aftermath of a feast
listen to the distant grief
of an abandoned dog
alone yet locked in orbit
who wouldn’t howl
Walking Blues
i lug my silence into a blue forest
its lost cloud
loud with jays jeering
at my blue hat
what makes it so high
and lonesome on the map
baptised from below
in the water table
enabling the spirit to speak
in broken oak—
no hoax this glossolalia
a cross-worded puzzle
muzzling all green thoughts
leaf by leaf
grief needs no bait to bite
no hook to hold
In the Hinterlands
the mountain hollow’s
yellow meadow
thrumming under another
morning fog
we curl around
our private griefs
before mourning becomes
a form of conformity
recall the headlonging
rush of young buds
the grand flourishes
the common sense we made
invasive weeds freed
from all native constraints
to wander the earth
planting our flags
Losing Maizy
Maizy the terrier had always traveled in circles — around the park, around the block, around the garden — but toward the end her circles tightened drastically till they occupied no more than a corner of the kitchen. She no longer recognized her own front door and became utterly lost. Except, it seems, on the lap of her life-long companion, my partner Rachel. Her fits become more frequent and prolonged, each time leaving her a bit more impaired. Finally Rachel made the agonizing decision to have her euthanized. She found a vet who made house calls, and when the time came, held Maizy as if she were an infant while the drugs kicked in. Rachel said she felt her relax all over, and then, a few seconds later, simply stop breathing.
Threnody
A cop with a backpack sprayer
poisoning an urban garden—
why should I dream of this?
I carry out a dead houseplant,
but can’t find a snow-free spot
to lay it to rest.
The house finch whose eye disease
prevents him from migrating
warbles on and on.
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