Poemas sobre el tema: sand

Poemas sobre el tema «sand» en Poets.by.

AnsiosoDave Bonta

Get woke stay woke

light found a little table with one joint of meat and dressed it in gold I would’ve been glad to doubt all things but joy is great in me like the fear of death in a king under my yes the sand may give way I open my window God help me to the sight of unsufferable torment not to speak but to stay present after a rupture with the usual ease and sleep
ContemplativoDave Bonta

In Cuba

the old monstrous god of bodkin and thimble broke open till all was out I saw no paper question it as silver as music the water here we find the town beside the fort a contingency unsettled in sand news here in Cuba signifies little but to say that something comes
InspiradorDave Bonta

Low-information voter

I have put on my hope and voted against sand hindered from sleep hardly able to open eyes I look at any road and see no road nothing is now out of the way but I am resolved to drive
ContemplativoDave Bonta

Mandala

ordinary morning the sand painter begins to study time
SoñadorDave Bonta

Camping

night desert I hear discreet things out in the sand
AlegreDave Bonta

Beach bum

A seal came for the oysters— a good, broad bed— and stayed to stir sand.
ContemplativoDave Bonta

Medicine

Wind among the sands. I eat oysters all afternoon, walk to keep myself from clock and caudle.
SoñadorDave Bonta

Oversight

sand castle a fine moon but no windows to have it
ContemplativoDave Bonta

Self-starter

How I inform myself! A mind to know is no mind— sand to the Indies, the morning star to a fish.
SoñadorDave Bonta

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.
ContemplativoDave Bonta

Some Disassembly Required

perhaps one wouldn’t call it metamorphosis the shift of sandstone back into sand prized free by frost or fungal enzymes grain by grain more gradual than an hourglass though so much less reversible but why only prize changes made under pressure it’s years of weather that unfather us daily hammer blows that shape our addictions
ContemplativoDave Bonta

Gray matter

underfoot the piece meal of it what was once gray sand now glitters under lichen after dark the lunar landscape of it shivery with crickets dense with ambiguities the way bare wood weathers or old snow collects grime aging in place lost in a maze of cracks i have taken my micro dose of humility the high line buzzes with ghosts of power