Sky Harbor

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1. Butch Weldy After I got religion and steadied down They gave me a job in the canning works, And every morning I had to fill The tank in the yard with gasoline, That fed the blow-fires in the sheds To heat the soldering irons. And I mounted a rickety ladder to do it, Carrying buckets full of […]...
2. In Harbor A young man, twenty eight years old, on a vessel from Tenos, Emes arrived at this Syrian harbor With the intention of learning the perfume trade. But during the voyage he was taken ill. And as soon As he disembarked, he died. His burial, the poorest, Took place here. A few hours before he died, […]...
3. The Harbor PASSING through huddled and ugly walls By doorways where women Looked from their hunger-deep eyes, Haunted with shadows of hunger-hands, Out from the huddled and ugly walls, I came sudden, at the city’s edge, On a blue burst of lake, Long lake waves breaking under the sun On a spray-flung curve of shore; And a […]...
4. Late Evening Song For a while Let it be enough: The responsive smile, Though effort goes into it. Across the warm room Shared in candlelight, This look beyond shame, Possible now, at night, Goes out to yours. Hidden by day And shaped by fires Grown dead, gone gray, That burned in other rooms I knew Too long ago […]...
5. 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 […]...
6. Harbor Moonrise There is never a wind to sing o’er the sea On its dimpled bosom that holdeth in fee Wealth of silver and magicry; And the harbor is like to an ebon cup With mother-o’-pearl to the lips lined up, And brimmed with the wine of entranced delight, Purple and rare, from the flagon of night. […]...
7. Harbor Dawn There’s a hush and stillness calm and deep, For the waves have wooed all the winds to sleep In the shadow of headlands bold and steep; But some gracious spirit has taken the cup Of the crystal sky and filled it up With rosy wine, and in it afar Has dissolved the pearl of the […]...
8. December 30 At 1:30 in the morning a fart Smells like a marriage between An avocado and a fish head. I have to get out of bed To write this down without My glasses on....
9. Golden Days Another day of toil and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all must write; Another page without a stain To make of as I may, That done, I shall not see again Until the Judgment Day. Ah, could I, could I backward turn The pages of that […]...
10. Picture Of A 23-Year-Old Youth Painted By His Friend Of The Same Age, An Amature He finished the painting yesterday noon. Now He studies it in detail. He has painted him in a Gray unbuttoned coat, a deep gray; without Any vest or any tie. With a rose-colored shirt; Open at the collar, so something might be seen Also of the beauty of his chest, of his neck. The right […]...
11. I Wake And Feel The Fell Of Dark, Not Day I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went! And more must, in yet longer light’s delay. With witness I speak this. But where I say Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament […]...
12. Nefarious War Last year we fought by the head-stream of the Sang-kan, This year we are fighting on the Tsung-ho road. We have washed our armor in the waves of the Chiao-chi lake, We have pastured our horses on Tien-shan’s snowy slopes. The long, long war goes on ten thousand miles from home, Our three armies are […]...
13. THANKS HER griefs were the hours When my struggle was sore, Her joys were the powers That the climber upbore. Her home is the boundless Free ocean that seems To rock, calm and soundless, My galleon of dreams. Half hers are the glancing Creations that throng With pageant and dancing The ways of my song. My […]...
14. Amoretti III: The Sovereign Beauty The sovereign beauty which I do admire, Witness the world how worthy to be praised: The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire In my frail spirit, by her from baseness raised; That being now with her huge brightness dazed, Base thing I can no more endure to view; But looking still on her, I stand […]...
15. The Encounter All the while they were talking the new morality Her eyes explored me. And when I rose to go Her fingers were like the tissue Of a Japanese paper napkin....
16. The earth has many keys The earth has many keys, Where melody is not Is the unknown peninsula. Beauty is nature’s fact. But witness for her land, And witness for her sea, The cricket is her utmost Of elegy to me....
17. 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 […]...
18. Alone Over the fence, the dead settle in For a journey. Nine o’clock. You are alone for the first time Today. Boys asleep. Husband out. A beer bottle sweats in your hand, And sea lavender clogs the air With perfume. Think of yourself. Your arms rest with nothing to do After weeks spent attending to others. […]...
19. Exposure I Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us. . . Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent. . . Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient. . . Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous, But nothing happens. Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on […]...
20. I'll tell you how the Sun rose I’ll tell you how the Sun rose A Ribbon at a time The Steeples swam in Amethyst The news, like Squirrels, ran The Hills untied their Bonnets The Bobolinks begun Then I said softly to myself “That must have been the Sun”! But how he set I know not There seemed a purple stile That […]...
21. I Want To Die In My Own Bed All night the army came up from Gilgal To get to the killing field, and that’s all. In the ground, warf and woof, lay the dead. I want to die in My own bed. Like slits in a tank, their eyes were uncanny, I’m always the few and they are the many. I must answer. […]...
22. 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 […]...
23. Swing Shift Blues What is better than leaving a bar In the middle of the afternoon Besides staying in it or not Having gone into it in the first place Because you had a decent woman to be with? The air smells particularly fresh After the stale beer and piss smells. You can stare up at the whole […]...
24. What Semiramis Said THE moon’s a steaming chalice, Of honey and venom-wine. A little of it sipped by night Makes the long hours divine. But oh, my reckless lovers, They drain the cup and wail, Die at my feet with shaking limbs And tender lips all pale. Above them in the sky it bends Empty and gray and […]...
25. Ekka The Ekka institution bares us all, though call it Exhibition, Royal Queensland Show, it’s that time of year when you will go in Liberal spirit where the spectacle of fantasies escrow. Gaudy frills and simple bunting still excites the passive soul, Ignites the fires patrolled by commonsense and daily grind, Enlivens dour inclines with smeared […]...
26. The Birds reported from the South The Birds reported from the South A News express to Me A spicy Charge, My little Posts But I am deaf Today The Flowers appealed a timid Throng I reinforced the Door Go blossom for the Bees I said And trouble Me no More The Summer Grace, for Notice strove Remote Her best Array The […]...
27. 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. […]...
28. ON FIRST READING JOHN GOODBY'S 'IRISH POETRY SINCE 1950&#039 Barbarous insult to Yeats’ memory and Claudel’s Allen, thank God you are dead, you who breathed the air of Apollinaire, Ghost of Reverdy bear witness to the mendacity of his clamour, Hart Crane, rise from the estuary of the great river you drowned in, John Clare, rise from your country churchyard grave, Gray, from your […]...
29. Realization I smiled with skeptic mocking where they told me you were dead, You of the airy laughter and lightly twinkling feet; “They tell a dream that haunted a chill gray dawn,” I said, “Death could not touch or claim a thing so vivid and so sweet!” I looked upon you coffined amid your virgin flowers, […]...
30. THE DAYS GO BY for Daniel Weissbort Some poems meant only for my eyes About a grief I can’t let go But I want to, want to throw It away like an old worn-out cloak Or screw up like a ball of over-written Trash and toss into the corner bin. I said it must come up or out I […]...
31. Sister Jane WHEN Sister Jane, who had produced a child, In prayer and penance all her hours beguiled Her sister-nuns around the lattice pressed; On which the abbess thus her flock addressed: Live like our sister Jane, and bid adieu To worldly cares: have better things in view. YES, they replied, we sage like her shall be, […]...
32. For A Coming Extinction Gray whale Now that we are sinding you to The End That great god Tell him That we who follow you invented forgiveness And forgive nothing I write as though you could understand And I could say it One must always pretend something Among the dying When you have left the seas nodding on their […]...
33. Do People moulder equally Do People moulder equally, They bury, in the Grave? I do believe a Species As positively live As I, who testify it Deny that I am dead And fill my Lungs, for Witness From Tanks above my Head I say to you, said Jesus That there be standing here A Sort, that shall not taste […]...
34. Hymn 4 part 2 The inward witness to Christianity. 1 Jn. 5:10. Questions and doubts be heard no more, Let Christ and joy be all our theme; His Spirit seals his gospel sure, To every soul that trusts in him. Jesus, thy witness speaks within; The mercy which thy words reveal Refines the heart from sense and sin, And […]...
35. Fair Elanor The bell struck one, and shook the silent tower; The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor Walk’d by the castle gate, and lookиd in. A hollow groan ran thro’ the dreary vaults. She shriek’d aloud, and sunk upon the steps, On the cold stone her pale cheeks. Sickly smells Of death issue as from […]...
36. The Likeness When I came forth this morn I saw Quite twenty cloudlets in the air; And then I saw a flock of sheep, Which told me how these clouds came there. That flock of sheep, on that green grass, Well might it lie so still and proud! Its likeness had been drawn in heaven, On a […]...
37. GROTTY AND THE QUARRYMAN (To Paul Sykes, author of ‘Sweet Agony’) He demolished five doors at a sitting And topped it off with an outsize window One Christmas afternoon, when drunk; Sober he smiled like an angel, bowed, Kissed ladies’ hands and courtesy Was his middle name. She tried to pass for thirty at fifty-six, Called him “My Sweet […]...
38. Pensive and Faltering PENSIVE and faltering, The words, the dead, I write; For living are the Dead; (Haply the only living, only real, And I the apparition-I the spectre.) 5...
39. Crossing The Atlantic We sail out of season into on oyster-gray wind, Over a terrible hardness. Where Dickens crossed with mal de mer In twenty weeks or twenty days I cross toward him in five. Wraped in robes Not like Caesar but like liver with bacon I rest on the stern Burning my mouth with a wind-hot ash, […]...
40. The Travelling Post Office The roving breezes come and go, the reed-beds sweep and sway, The sleepy river murmers low, and loiters on its way, It is the land of lots o’time along the Castlereagh. . . .. . . . . The old man’s son had left the farm, he found it full and slow, He drifted to […]...