Poèmes sur le thème : wilderness

Poèmes sur le thème « wilderness » sur Poets.by.

AnxieuxRobert Kern

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In the summer of 1968 I became a vegetarian. Reasons: 1) To become plantlike. 2) To stop consuming. 3) To live like a member of the Third World. 4) To do it. I did it making friends among bushes and trees frowning on porkchops in the supermarket denying the environmental pressures plunking down roots in the earthly sources attaching myself to the ground loving the rain drawing toward the sun. Enter, the merciless sponge of the System the wilderness going down
JoyeuxHans Ostrom

Squirrels

I’ve watched squirrels my whole life. They inhabit a zone just outside domesticity, are diplomatically wild. They worry and stare, behaviors of which I approve. They horde forgetfully, gorge daintily. Sometimes they just stop. And fall asleep, mid-day, on a limb or a fence post, all energy drained. Sometimes frenzy possesses them—something to do with sex or fleas—mad bursts of wants followed by a frozen pose. Squirrels are not everything I had hoped wilderness to be. They are though everything I would want squirrels to be, and slightly more, for there’s always just one more surprise ready to leap
ContemplatifHans Ostrom

Winter Nocturne

This is still unbroken country: granite that buckled a million eons ago, diorite boulders, manzanita—and coyote, as lean and sharp as death itself. I think of the ridge in darkness where ponderosa pines creak like beams of sunken ships. If you think about a slab of slate beneath the snow, you are glad to be in bed, three blankets toward sleep. It can be that simple. A winter night in the hills allows the luxury of plain choices, whether to freeze or not. Out there the bear’s brain sleeps. A coyote cries like a victim.
ContemplatifRisa Bear

Seventy-Four

You showed me the door. Now I am alone in wilderness. Ah! That then was kindness.
ContemplatifWallace Stevens

Anecdote of the Jar

I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill. The wilderness rose up to it, And sprawled around, no longer wild. The jar was round upon the ground And tall and of a port in air. It took dominion everywhere. The jar was gray and bare. It did not give of bird or bush, Like nothing else in Tennessee.
RêveurW. H. Davies

When the Cuckoo Sings

In summer, when the Cuckoo sings, And clouds like greater moons can shine; When every leafy tree doth hold A loving heart that beats with mine: Now, when the Brook has cresses green, As well as stones, to check his pace; And, if the Owl appears, he's forced By small birds to some hiding-place: Then, like red Robin in the spring, I shun those haunts where men are found; My house holds little joy until Leaves fall and birds can make no sound; Let none invade that wilderness Into whose dark green depths I go-- Save some fine lady, all in white, Comes like a pillar of pure snow.
RomantiqueAnna Wickham

Oasis

O SPRING of my Content, The parching days are spent. Where'er your feeding waters move There is the sweet increase of love. I, wanderer in a wilderness Starved of all hope and comfortless, Now lay me down in groves of cool delight Which you have nurtured, in a charmed night.