from The Spring Flowers Own: “This unfinished business of my / childhood”

This unfinished business of my
this emerald lake
from my journey’s other
haunts hierarchies of heavens
a palm forest
fell overnight
to make room for an unwanted
ever since
fevers and swellings
turn me into a river
the streets were steep
winds were running ahead
of ships . . .
There was indeed the death of birds
the moon had passed away.

The morning after his death
pursuing him beyond his bitter end
his mother came to
his grave:
she removed his bones out of
their pattern
and ditched them into mud:
women came at night
and claimed Rimbaud their own
that night there was much
thunder it was awesome
Laurels and lilacs
bloom around my head
because I stood up to the sun
You see the Colorado River runs
between flowered banks
I repeat my journeys to seek the
happiness that overcame
your absence
I was happy not to love you anymore
until the sunset reached
the East
and broke my raft apart
there were other rivers underground
covered with dead flowers
it was cold it was cold yes it was
Under a combination of pain
and machine-gun fire
flowers disappeared
they are in the same
state of non-being
as Emily Dickinson
We the dead have conversation
in our gardens
about our lack of
The gardener is planting
blue and white
some angel moved in with me
to flee the cold
temperature on earth are
but we wear upon us some
immovable frost
everyone carries his dying as
a growing shadow.
I left the morning paper
by the coffee cup
the heat was 85 like the
and I went to the window to find
that flowers had bloomed overnight
to replace the bodies
felled in the war
the enemy had come with fire
and ruse
to stamp the names of the dead
in the gardens of Yohmor
It is not because spring
is too beautiful
that we’ll not write what
happens in the dark.
A butterfly came to die
between two stones
at the foot of the Mountain
the mountain shed shadows
over it
to cover the secret of



Comment form:

*Max text - 500. Manual moderation.

Similar Poems:

The Test of Fantasy by Joanne Kyger
Joanne Kyger

It unfolds and ripples like a banner, downward. All the stories
come folding out. The smells and flowers begin to come back, as
the tapestry is brightly colored and brocaded. Rabbits and violets.

Who asked you to come over? She got her foot in the door and
would not remove it, elbowing and talking swiftly. Gas leak?
that sounds like a very existential position; perhaps you had
better check with the landlord.
Read Poem

from The Manifestations of the Voyage by Etel Adnan
Etel Adnan
my house’s stairway is seized with vertigo. Matter having forsaken its laws, we land in hell, ascending to heaven.
Read Poem

from The Spring Flowers Own: “The morning after / my death” by Etel Adnan
Etel Adnan
The morning after my death we will sit in cafés but I will not be there
Read Poem

Perspectives by R. S. Thomas
R. S. Thomas

Beasts rearing from green slime—
an illiterate country, unable to read
its own name. Stones moved into position
on the hills’ sides; snakes laid their eggs
in their cold shadow. The earth suffered
the sky’s shrapnel, bled yellow
into the enraged sea. At night heavily
Read Poem

Autobiography: New York by Charles Reznikoff
Charles Reznikoff

It is not to be bought for a penny
in the candy store, nor picked
from the bushes in the park. It may be found, perhaps,
in the ashes on the distant lots,
among the rusting cans and Jimpson weeds.
If you wish to eat fish freely,
cucumbers and melons,
Read Poem

Itinerary by James McMichael
James McMichael
The farmhouses north of Driggs,
silos for miles along the road saying
BUTLER or SIOUX. The light saying
rain coming on, the wind not up yet,
animals waiting as the front hits
everything on the high fiats, hailstones
bouncing like rabbits under the sage.
Nothing running off. Creeks clear.
Read Poem

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (text of 1834) by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country. PART I
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Read Poem

A Vision of Poesy by Henry Timrod
Henry Timrod

In a far country, and a distant age,
Ere sprites and fays had bade farewell to earth,
A boy was born of humble parentage;
The stars that shone upon his lonely birth
Did seem to promise sovereignty and fame—
Yet no tradition hath preserved his name.

’T is said that on the night when he was born,
A beauteous shape swept slowly through the room;
Its eyes broke on the infant like a morn,
And his cheek brightened like a rose in bloom;
Read Poem

Heart’s Needle by W. D. Snodgrass
W. D. Snodgrass
For Cynthia

When he would not return to fine garments and good food, to his houses and his people, Loingseachan told him, “Your father is dead.” “I’m sorry to hear it,” he said. “Your mother is dead,” said the lad. “All pity for me has gone out of the world.” “Your sister, too, is dead.” “The mild sun rests on every ditch,” he said; “a sister loves even though not loved.” “Suibhne, your daughter is dead.” “And an only daughter is the needle of the heart.” “And Suibhne, your little boy, who used to call you “Daddy”—he is dead.” “Aye,” said Suibhne, “that’s the drop that brings a man to the ground.”
He fell out of the yew tree; Loingseachan closed his arms around him and placed him in manacles.—AFTER THE MIDDLE-IRISH ROMANCE, THE MADNESS OF SUIBHNE
Read Poem