Missing
Where is my absence?
My house is virginal;
I could not stay with myself.
Cold water went home to ice
and wind to a rose bed.
Poems on the topic: ice
Poems on the topic “ice” on Poets.by.
Graying
I accept gray hair,
in which I am finding
my father and my work:
this is the last
lost ice, all
my accounts.
Down and out
Broke, I look for a cell.
A brave press of confidence could gin me—
ice in an oven.
I drink and talk.
Clarity
ice all morning
making a clear world
Sad Money
I had sad money
and a din of debts all night,
things that come to wait:
the sun on ice,
a pretend home on foot.
Anadromous
hard is the funeral of the fish
that come in May
I must keep one in ice
Grave
I love gravity above
any lazier talk
war is a strange church
it filled all the pews
in time to prove
the last prophet of ice
Secret agent
I tell my mind
to my sandwich
how in the country of creeds and good chocolate
the young get vicious
and the king’s ear is with child
as water is with ice
Begin the beguine
in many hands
I perceive a dance
of great use
and small trouble
dark and light
ice
wine
Piscean
an old fish
I have my dinner in a jug
talking about ice
and who will give up all
for the oven
Neuroses
I consider the rosebush cruel
and the rose frightening
as a ship in the Navy.
I am ashamed
of the timber in a book.
I think up a God
and it makes my head
into a well of ice.
Invoice
Four o’clock
and I even accounts
with myself. Our heads roll
like ice on the shore
or the poor in
their warren. Where
is the house I forgot?
I light a room
to scare away sleep.
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