#AmericanWriters
From where I stand the sheep stan… As stones against the stony hill. The stones are gray And so are they. And both are weatherworn and round…
The first speaker said Fear fire. Fear furnaces Incinerators, the city dump The faint scratch of a match. The second speaker said
Words of a poem should be glass But glass so simple-subtle its sha… Is nothing but the shape of what i… A glass spun for itself is empty, Brittle, at best Venetian trinket…
backroad leafmold stonewall chipmu… underbrush grapevine woodchuck sha… woodsmoke cowbarn honeysuckle wood… sawhorse bucksaw outhouse wellswee… backdoor flagstone bulkhead butter…
Lingo of birds was easier than lin… they were elusive, though, the bir… He thought of Virgil, Virgil who… History he never forgave for letti… lapse into Italian, a renegade jab…
This little house sows the degrees By which wood can return to trees. Weather has stained the shingles d… And indistinguishable from bark. Lichen that long ago adjourned
The beautiful is fair. The just i… Yet one is commonplace and one is… One everywhere, one scarcely anywh… So fair unfair a world. Had we th… To use the surplus for the deficit…
Keep me from going to sleep too so… Or if I go to sleep too soon Come wake me up. Come any hour Of night. Come whistling up the r… Stomp on the porch. Bang on the d…
The winter apples have been picked… Rain and wind have picked the mapl… The last of them now bank the hous… None are left upon the trees or on… Green and tall as ever it grew in…
Two boys uncoached are tossing a p… Overhand, underhand, backhand, sle… Teasing with attitudes, latitudes,… High, make him fly off the ground… Make him scoop it up, make him as-…
My mind matches this understand la… Outdoors the pencilled tree, the w… Indoors the constant fire, the car… Are facts that I accept and under… I have brought in red berries and…
When others run to windows or out… To catch the sunset whole, he is c… With any segment anywhere he sits. From segment, fragment, he can rec… The whole, prefers to reconstruct…
Four Tao philosophers as cedar wa… chat on a February berry bush in sun, and I am one. Such merriment and such sobriety— the small wild fruit on the tall s…
Searock his tower above the sea, Searock he built, not ivory. Searock as well his haunted art Who gave to plunging hawks his hea… He loved to stand upon his head
Poised between going on and back,… Both ways taut like a tightrope-wa… Fingertips pointing the opposites, Now bouncing tiptoe like a dropped… Or a kid skipping rope, come on, c…