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Night out
my head aching with too much night
I hear nothing but owl
meet with nothing but wild stone and woods
Poems on the topic: owl
Poems on the topic “owl” on Poets.by.
Strix
a god odd as the world
who practices that great joy
the owl is who I give ground to
Shape shift
I am an owl
(who calls my name)
I am a bear
(so much pursuing
of a tangier supper)
Thirsty
in dry weather
I go for wine
the secret owl of my heart
is married to a swan
Winter came and went
last night the white
kiss of winter
an owl in two or three places
two or three idle people
and you bigger than fear
like a bonfire in the street
Harried
I take my portion of nothing
more than coffee
with the severest crow
I hear him giving ill language
to some other owl
drowsy and vexed
Auspex
on the only step
an owl
night comes to me
because I am late to her bed
Strigiformalism
ice letters
close all day
night striking out at noon
in the owl’s poems
Strigiform
an owl comes
full of night
and light as
all the life
it might
eat
Ephemera
who is concerned
for the foolery of fashion
green and pretty as money
we look at nature
and home in on business
sure of the owl
and the goodness of air
so cold and so close
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
Listening to Owls
An hour before dawn, two screech owls start calling,
loud & close.
I feel like an involuntary eavesdropper
on someone else’s scandal-ridden version
of our lives. It passes
from ridge to ridge, shivering over the houses
& the thirty-five acres of goldenrod plundered from the woods,
like a truncated version of the same
open wing that descends nightly
all over the world, leaving only a few pinholes
of available light.
The owls start calling with the suddenness
of all terrible descents.
I have just been thinking about the long stretches
of highway I would have to walk
to visit distant friends, how we have quarreled
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