Mist Forms

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1. The Mist I AM the mist, the impalpable mist, Back of the thing you seek. My arms are long, Long as the reach of time and space. Some toil and toil, believing, Looking now and again on my face, Catching a vital, olden glory. But no one passes me, I tangle and snare them all. I am […]...
2. Mad As The Mist And Snow Bolt and bar the shutter, For the foul winds blow: Our minds are at their best this night, And I seem to know That everything outside us is Mad as the mist and snow. Horace there by Homer stands, Plato stands below, And here is Tully’s open page. How many years ago Were you and […]...
3. Love In A Mist Light love in a mist, by the midsummer moon misguided, Scarce seen in the twilight garden if gloom insist, Seems vainly to seek for a star whose gleam has derided Light love in a mist. All day in the sun, when the breezes do all they list, His soft blue raiment of cloudlike blossom abided […]...
4. Potomac River Mist ALL the policemen, saloonkeepers and efficiency experts in Toledo knew Bern Dailey; secretary ten years when Whitlock was mayor. Pickpockets, yeggs, three card men, he knew them all and how they flit from zone to zone, birds of wind and weather, singers, fighters, scavengers. The Washington monument pointed to a new moon for us and […]...
5. Mist In The Valley These hills, to hurt me more, That am hurt already enough,- Having left the sea behind, Having turned suddenly and left the shore That I had loved beyond all words, even a song’s words, to Convey, And built me a house on upland acres, Sweet with the pinxter, bright and rough With the rusty blackbird […]...
6. Mild the mist upon the hill Mild the mist upon the hill Telling not of storms tomorrow; No, the day has wept its fill, Spent its store of silent sorrow. O, I’m gone back to the days of youth, I am a child once more, And ‘neath my father’s sheltering roof And near the old hall door I watch this cloudy […]...
7. Sonnet XXXV: What Means the Mist What means the mist opaque that veils these eyes; Why does yon threat’ning tempest shroud the day? Why does thy altar, Venus, fade away, And on my breast the dews of horror rise? Phaon is false! be dim ye orient Skies; And let black Erebus succeed your ray; Let clashing thunders roll, and lightning play; […]...
8. Woman with a Past THERE was a woman tore off a red velvet gown And slashed the white skin of her right shoulder And a crimson zigzag wrote a finger nail hurry. There was a woman spoke six short words And quit a life that was old to her For a life that was new. There was a woman […]...
9. Ocean of Forms I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, Hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless. No more sailing from harbor to harbor with this my weather-beaten boat. The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves. And now I am eager to die into the […]...
10. Authorship You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t Understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really Make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father Write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his […]...
11. Half Moon in a High Wind MONEY is nothing now, even if I had it, O mooney moon, yellow half moon, Up over the green pines and gray elms, Up in the new blue. Streel, streel, White lacey mist sheets of cloud, Streel in the blowing of the wind, Streel over the blue-and-moon sky, Yellow gold half moon. It is light […]...
12. Enigma Come riddle-me-ree, come riddle-me-ree, And tell me, what my name may be. I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old, And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose; Though a dwarf in my youth (as my nurses have told), I have, ev’ry year since, been outgrowing my clothes; Till, at last, such a corpulent […]...
13. There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders. In a Temple of silvery farawayness I guard her to rest. For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of the World. With the morning breath of the snow leopard I Cover her against any hurt. Using the pen of rivers and […]...
14. Last Answers I wrote a poem on the mist And a woman asked me what I meant by it. I had thought till then only of the beauty of the mist, how pearl and gray of it mix and reel, And change the drab shanties with lighted lamps at evening into points of mystery quivering with color. […]...
15. Yvytot Where wail the waters in their flaw A spectre wanders to and fro, And evermore that ghostly shore Bemoans the heir of Yvytot. Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall, The mists upon the waters fall, Across the main float shadows twain That do not heed the spectre’s call. The king his son of Yvytot Stood […]...
16. Mother, I cannot mind my Wheel MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: O, if you felt the pain I feel! But O, who ever felt as I? No longer could I doubt him true All other men may use deceit; He always said my eyes were blue, And often swore my lips were sweet....
17. Who Ever Felt as I? Mother, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: Oh! if you felt the pain I feel! But oh, who ever felt as I? No longer could I doubt him true; All other men may use deceit: He always said my eyes were blue, And often swore my lips were sweet....
18. When Klopstock England Defied When Klopstock England defied, Uprose William Blake in his pride; For old Nobodaddy aloft . . . and belch’d and cough’d; Then swore a great oath that made Heaven quake, And call’d aloud to English Blake. Blake was giving his body ease, At Lambeth beneath the poplar trees. From his seat then started he And […]...
19. Dream Song 128: A hemorrhage of his left ear of Good Friday A hemorrhage of his left ear of Good Friday— So help me Jesus—then made funny too The other, further one. There must have been a bit. Sheets scrubbed away Soon all but three nails. Doctors in this city O Will not (his wife cried) come. Perhaps he’s for it. IF that Filipino doc Had diagnosed […]...
20. Love Letter Written In A Burning Building I am in a crate, the crate that was ours, Full of white shirts and salad greens, The icebox knocking at our delectable knocks, And I wore movies in my eyes, And you wore eggs in your tunnel, And we played sheets, sheets, sheets All day, even in the bathtub like lunatics. But today I […]...
21. Admire their style I’m reading fellow poets’ blogs today, A sustaining source of entertainment; I admire their style without exciting comment Or resorting to an unkind eye, simple though It is to sigh about uneasy affirmation. I hope when they read me (if they ever do) They rest as easy on my lack of finished form, The hazy, […]...
22. Horses and Men in Rain LET us sit by a hissing steam radiator a winter’s day, gray wind pattering frozen raindrops on the window, And let us talk about milk wagon drivers and grocery delivery boys. Let us keep our feet in wool slippers and mix hot punches-and talk about mail carriers and messenger boys slipping along the icy sidewalks. […]...
23. Noon I bend to the ground To catch Something whispered, Urgent, drifting Across the ditches. The heaviness of Flies stuttering In orbit, dirt Ripening, the sweat Of eggs. There are Small streams The width ofa thumb Running in the villages Of sheaves, whole Eras of grain Wakening on The stalks, a roof That breathes over My […]...
24. Sonnet 38 – First time he kissed me, he but only kissed First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And ever since, it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its ‘Oh, list,’ When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. […]...
25. Affinity YOU and I have found the secret way, None can bar our love or say us nay: All the world may stare and never know You and I are twined together so. You and I for all his vaunted width Know the giant Space is but a myth; Over miles and miles of pure deceit […]...
26. The Captain of the Push As the night was falling slowly down on city, town and bush, From a slum in Jones’s Alley sloped the Captain of the Push; And he scowled towards the North, and he scowled towards the South, As he hooked his little finger in the corners of his mouth. Then his whistle, loud and shrill, woke […]...
27. National Trust Bottomless pits. There’s on in Castleton, And stout upholders of our law and order One day thought its depth worth wagering on And borrowed a convict hush-hush from his warder And winched him down; and back, flayed, grey, mad, dumb. Not even a good flogging made him holler! O gentlemen, a better way to plumb […]...
28. Nights Nothings Again WHO knows what I know When I have asked the night questions And the night has answered nothing Only the old answers? Who picked a crimson cryptogram, The tail light of a motor car turning a corner, Or the midnight sign of a chile con carne place, Or a man out of the ashes of […]...
29. Wisdom When Wisdom tells me that the world’s a speck Lost on the shoreless blue of God’s To-Day… I smile, and think, ‘For every man his way: The world’s my ship, and I’m alone on deck!’ And when he tells me that the world’s a spark Lit in the whistling gloom of God’s To-Night… I look […]...
30. Sandpipers Sandland where the salt water kills the sweet potatoes. Homes for sandpipers-the script of their feet is on the sea shingles-they write in the morning, it is gone at noon-they write at noon, it is gone at night. Pity the land, the sea, the ten mile flats, pity anything but the sandpiper’s wire legs and […]...
31. An Address to the Rev. George Gilfillan All hail to the Rev. George Gilfillan of Dundee, He is the greatest preacher I did ever hear or see. He is a man of genius bright, And in him his congregation does delight, Because they find him to be honest and plain, Affable in temper, and seldom known to complain. He preaches in a […]...
32. Victory comes late Victory comes late And is held low to freezing lips Too rapt with frost To take it How sweet it would have tasted Just a Drop Was God so economical? His Table’s spread too high for Us Unless We dine on tiptoe Crumbs fit such little mouths Cherries suit Robbins The Eagle’s Golden Breakfast strangles […]...
33. Helen of Tyre What phantom is this that appears Through the purple mist of the years, Itself but a mist like these? A woman of cloud and of fire; It is she; it is Helen of Tyre, The town in the midst of the seas. O Tyre! in thy crowded streets The phantom appears and retreats, And the […]...
34. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
35. My Cross I wrote a poem to the moon But no one noticed it; Although I hoped that late or soon Someone would praise a bit Its purity and grace forlone, Its beauty tulip-cool… But as my poem died still-born, I felt a fool. I wrote a verse of vulgar trend Spiced with an oath or two; […]...
36. Some Like Poetry Write it. Write. In ordinary ink On ordinary paper: they were given no food, They all died of hunger. “All. How many? It’s a big meadow. How much grass For each one?” Write: I don’t know. History counts its skeletons in round numbers. A thousand and one remains a thousand, As though the one had […]...
37. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...
38. An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran – Whene’er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, […]...
39. Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind “The past is a bucket of ashes.” 1 THE WOMAN named To-morrow Sits with a hairpin in her teeth And takes her time And does her hair the way she wants it And fastens at last the last braid and coil And puts the hairpin where it belongs And turns and drawls: Well, what of […]...
40. Death and the Maiden BARCAROLE ON THE STYX Fair youth with the rose at your lips, A riddle is hid in your eyes; Discard conversational quips, Give over elaborate disguise. The rose’s funeral breath Confirms by intuitive fears; To prove your devotion, Sir Death, Avaunt for a dozen of years. But do not forget to array Your terror in […]...