Invitation To Miss Marianne Moore
From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning, please come flying. In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals, please come flying, To the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums Descending
Five Flights Up
Still dark. The unknown bird sits on his usual branch. The little dog next door barks in his sleep Inquiringly, just once. Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires Once or twice, quavering.
The Monument
Now can you see the monument? It is of wood Built somewhat like a box. No. Built Like several boxes in descending sizes One above the other. Each is turned half-way round so that
A Prodigal
The brown enormous odor he lived by Was too close, with its breathing and thick hair, For him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty Was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung. Light-lashed,
Conversation
The tumult in the heart Keeps asking questions. And then it stops and undertakes to answer In the same tone of voice. No one could tell the difference. Uninnocent, these conversations start, And then
View Of The Capitol From The Library Of Congress
Moving from left to left, the light Is heavy on the Dome, and coarse. One small lunette turns it aside And blankly stares off to the side Like a big white old wall-eyed horse.
Lullaby For The Cat
Minnow, go to sleep and dream, Close your great big eyes; Round your bed Events prepare The pleasantest surprise. Darling Minnow, drop that frown, Just cooperate, Not a kitten shall be drowned In the
Sonnet (1979)
Caught the bubble In the spirit level, A creature divided; And the compass needle Wobbling and wavering, Undecided. Freed the broken Thermometer’s mercury Running away; And the rainbow-bird From the narrow bevel Of the
The Moose
From narrow provinces Of fish and bread and tea, Home of the long tides Where the bay leaves the sea Twice a day and takes The herrings long rides, Where if the river Enters
Insomnia
The moon in the bureau mirror Looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at herself, But she never, never smiles) Far and away beyond sleep, or Perhaps she’s a daytime sleeper. By
Casabianca
Love’s the boy stood on the burning deck Trying to recite “The boy stood on The burning deck.” Love’s the son stood stammering elocution while the poor ship in flames went down. Love’s the
Exchanging Hats
Unfunny uncles who insist In trying on a lady’s hat, oh, even if the joke falls flat, We share your slight transvestite twist In spite of our embarrassment. Costume and custom are complex. The
In The Waiting Room
In Worcester, Massachusetts, I went with Aunt Consuelo To keep her dentist’s appointment And sat and waited for her In the dentist’s waiting room. It was winter. It got dark Early. The waiting room
One Art
The art of losing isn’t hard to master; So many things seem filled with the intent To be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster Of lost
Filling Station
Oh, but it is dirty! this little filling station, Oil-soaked, oil-permeated To a disturbing, over-all Black translucency. Be careful with that match! Father wears a dirty, Oil-soaked monkey suit That cuts him under the