The Unicorn
The saintly hermit, midway through his prayers
Stopped suddenly, and raised his eyes to witness
The unbelievable: for there before him stood
The legendary creature, startling white, that
Had approached, soundlessly, pleading with his eyes.
The legs, so delicately shaped, balanced a
Body wrought of finest ivory. And as
He moved, his coat shone like reflected moonlight.
High on his forehead rose the magic horn, the sign
Of his uniqueness: a tower held upright
By his alert, yet gentle, timid gait.
The mouth of softest tints of rose and grey, when
Opened slightly, revealed his gleaming teeth,
Whiter than snow. The nostrils quivered faintly:
He sought to quench his thirst, to rest and find repose.
His eyes looked far beyond the saint’s enclosure,
Reflecting vistas and events long vanished,
And closed the circle of this ancient mystic legend.
Related poetry:
- Teeth English Teeth, English Teeth! Shining in the sun A part of British heritage Aye, each and every one. English Teeth, Happy Teeth! Always having fun Clamping down on bits of fish And sausages half done. English Teeth! HEROES’ Teeth! Hear them click! and clack! Let’s sing a song of praise to them – Three Cheers […]...
- 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 […]...
- The Last Unicorn The last unicorn was never free To chose another ending, The plaintive melody entrained With sweet orchestral strains Describing it was sundered in A soured rendition of Our heaven’s harsh dominion. We were never set to let her free From facile bonds, we fondly loved Mythology too much to let her go And kept her […]...
- The Black Unicorn The black unicorn is greedy. The black unicorn is impatient. ‘The black unicorn was mistaken For a shadow or symbol And taken Through a cold country Where mist painted mockeries Of my fury. It is not on her lap where the horn rests But deep in her moonpit Growing. The black unicorn is restless The […]...
- 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 […]...
- When Cold December WHEN cold December Froze to grisamber The jangling bells on the sweet rose-trees Then fading slow And furred is the snow As the almond’s sweet husk And smelling like musk. The snow amygdaline Under the eglantine Where the bristling stars shine Like a gilt porcupine The snow confesses The little Princesses On their small chioppines […]...
- First Sight Lambs that learn to walk in snow When their bleating clouds the air Meet a vast unwelcome, know Nothing but a sunless glare. Newly stumbling to and fro All they find, outside the fold, Is a wretched width of cold. As they wait beside the ewe, Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies Hidden round them, […]...
- A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight They mouth love’s language. Gnash The thirteen teeth Your lean jaws grin with. Lash Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh. Love’s breath in you is stale, worded or sung, As sour as cat’s breath, Harsh of tongue. This grey that stares Lies not, stark skin and bone. Leave greasy lips their kissing. […]...
- Come With Me, I Said, And No One Knew (VII) Come with me, I said, and no one knew Where, or how my pain throbbed, No carnations or barcaroles for me, Only a wound that love had opened. I said it again: Come with me, as if I were dying, And no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth Or the blood that […]...
- Gacela of Unforseen Love No one understood the perfume Of the dark magnolia of your womb. Nobody knew that you tormented A hummingbird of love between your teeth. A thousand Persian little horses fell asleep In the plaza with moon of your forehead, While through four nights I embraced Your waist, enemy of the snow. Between plaster and jasmins, […]...
- Sonnet. Inscribed to Her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire ‘TIS NOT thy flowing hair of orient gold, Nor those bright eyes, like sapphire gems that glow; Nor cheek of blushing rose, nor breast of snow, The varying passions of the heart could hold: Those locks, too soon, shall own a silv’ry ray, Those radiant orbs their magic fires forego; Insatiate TIME shall steal those […]...
- A Door just opened on a street A Door just opened on a street I lost was passing by An instant’s Width of Warmth disclosed And Wealth and Company. The Door as instant shut And I I lost was passing by Lost doubly but by contrast most Informing misery...
- Mouths Of Hippopotami And Some Recent Novels (with apologies to Frederic Taber Cooper) I well recall (and who does not) The circus bill-board hippopotamus, Whose wide distended jaws For fear and terror were good cause. That month, that vasty carmine cave, Could munch with ease a Nubian slave; In fact, the bill-board hippopot- Amus could bolt a house and lot! Wide opened, […]...
- Juan In Middle Age The appetite which leads him to her bed Is not unlike the lust of boys for cake Except he knows that after he has fed He’ll suffer more than simple belly-ache. He’ll groan to think what others have to pay As price for his obsessive need to know That he’s a champion still, though slightly […]...
- Pods PEA pods cling to stems. Neponset, the village, Clings to the Burlington railway main line. Terrible midnight limiteds roar through Hauling sleepers to the Rockies and Sierras. The earth is slightly shaken And Neponset trembles slightly in its sleep....
- The Little Box The little box gets her first teeth And her little length Little width little emptiness And all the rest she has The little box continues growing The cupboard that she was inside Is now inside her And she grows bigger bigger bigger Now the room is inside her And the house and the city and […]...
- The Last Rose ‘O WHICH is the last rose?’ A blossom of no name. At midnight the snow came; At daybreak a vast rose, In darkness unfurl’d, O’er-petall’d the world. Its odourless pallor Blossom’d forlorn, Till radiant valour Establish’d the morn Till the night Was undone In her fight With the sun. The brave orb in state rose, […]...
- Adam High above he stands, beside the many Saintly figures fronting the cathedral’s Gothic tympanum, close by the window Called the rose, and looks astonished at his Own deification which placed him there. Erect and proud he smiles, and quite enjoys This feat of his survival, willed by choice. As labourer in the fields he made […]...
- The Tournament Joust First. I. Bright shone the lists, blue bent the skies, And the knights still hurried amain To the tournament under the ladies’ eyes, Where the jousters were Heart and Brain. II. Flourished the trumpets: entered Heart, A youth in crimson and gold. Flourished again: Brain stood apart, Steel-armored, dark and cold. III. Heart’s palfrey […]...
- Gunner Did they send me away from my cat and my wife To a doctor who poked me and counted my teeth, To a line on a plain, to a stove in a tent? Did I nod in the flies of the schools? And the fighters rolled into the tracer like rabbits, The blood froze over […]...
- Marine Snow At Mid-Depths And Down As you descend, slowly, falling faster past You this snow, Ghostly, some flakes bio- Luminescent (you plunge, And this lit snow doesn’t land At your feet but keeps falling below You): single-cell-plant chains, shreds Of zooplankton’s mucus food traps, Fish fecal pellets, radioactive fallouts, Sand grains, pollen….And inside These jagged falling islands Live more microlives, […]...
- Oh It is snowing and death bugs me As stubborn as insomnia. The fierce bubbles of chalk, The little white lesions Settle on the street outside. It is snowing and the ninety Year old woman who was combing Out her long white wraith hair Is gone, embalmed even now, Even tonight her arms are smooth Muskets […]...
- Very Like a Whale One thing that literature would be greatly the better for Would be a more restricted employment by the authors of simile and Metaphor. Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts, Can’t seem just to say that anything is the thing it is but have to Go out of their way to […]...
- Tцrnfallet There is a meadow in Sweden Where I lie smitten, Eyes stained with clouds’ White ins and outs. And about that meadow Roams my widow Plaiting a clover Wreath for her lover. I took her in marriage In a granite parish. The snow lent her whiteness, A pine was a witness. She’d swim in the […]...
- LoveSpell: Against Endings All the endings in my life Rise up against me Like that sea of troubles Shakespeare mixed With metaphors; Like Vikings in their boats Singing Wagner, Like witches Burning at The stake I submit To my fate. I know beginnings, Their sweetnesses, And endings, Their bitternesses But I do not know Continuance I do not […]...
- February: The Boy Breughel The birches stand in their beggar’s row: Each poor tree Has had its wrists nearly Torn from the clear sleeves of bone, These icy trees Are hanging by their thumbs Under a sun That will begin to heal them soon, Each will climb out Of its own blue, oval mouth; The river groans, Two birds […]...
- Moonlight As a pale phantom with a lamp Ascends some ruin’s haunted stair, So glides the moon along the damp Mysterious chambers of the air. Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed, As if this phantom, full of pain, Were by the crumbling walls concealed, And at the windows seen again. Until at last, serene and […]...
- Charles Carville's Eyes A melanholy face Charles Carville had, But not so melancholy as it seemed, When once you knew him, for his mouth redeemed His insufficient eyes, forever sad: In them there was no life-glimpse, good or bad, Nor joy nor passion in them ever gleamed; His mouth was all of him that ever beamed, His eyes […]...
- Twilight by the Cabin DUSK, a pearl-grey river, o’er Hill and vale puts out the day- What do you wonder at, asthore, What’s away in yonder grey? Dark the eyes that linger long- Dream-fed heart, awake, come in, Warm the hearth and gay the song: Love with tender words would win. Fades the eve in dreamy fire, But the […]...
- 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 […]...
- To The River Otter Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West! How many various-fated years have passed, What happy and what mournful hours, since last I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny ray, […]...
- MY PERFECT ROSE At ten she came to me, three years ago, There was ‘something between us’ even then; Watching her write like Eliot every day, Turn prose into haiku in ten minutes flat, Write a poem in Greek three weeks from learning the alphabet; Then translate it as ‘Sun on a tomb, gold place, small sacred horse’. […]...
- A Winter's Tale Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow, And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge; Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go On towards the pines at the hills’ white verge. I cannot see her, since the mist’s white scarf Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky; But she’s waiting, […]...
- The Grave and The Rose The Grave said to the Rose, “What of the dews of dawn, Love’s flower, what end is theirs?” “And what of spirits flown, The souls whereon doth close The tomb’s mouth unawares?” The Rose said to the Grave. The Rose said, “In the shade From the dawn’s tears is made A perfume faint and strange, […]...
- Helga THE WISHES on this child’s mouth Came like snow on marsh cranberries; The tamarack kept something for her; The wind is ready to help her shoes. The north has loved her; she will be A grandmother feeding geese on frosty Mornings; she will understand Early snow on the cranberries Better and better then....
- Ode To The Lemon From blossoms Released By the moonlight, From an Aroma of exasperated Love, Steeped in fragrance, Yellowness Drifted from the lemon tree, And from its plantarium Lemons descended to the earth. Tender yield! The coasts, The markets glowed With light, with Unrefined gold; We opened Two halves Of a miracle, Congealed acid Trickled From the hemispheres […]...
- Sonnet To the River Otter Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West! How many various-fated years have past, What happy and what mournful hours, since last I skimm’d the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes I never shut […]...
- We miss Her, not because We see We miss Her, not because We see The Absence of an Eye Except its Mind accompany Abridge Society As slightly as the Routes of Stars Ourselves asleep below We know that their superior Eyes Include Us as they go...
- A Marriage We met under a shower Of bird-notes. Fifty years passed, Love’s moment in a world in Servitude to time. She was young; I kissed with my eyes closed and opened Them on her wrinkles. ‘Come,’ said death, Choosing her as his partner for The last dance, And she, who in life Had done everything with […]...
- Settling I was welcomed here-clear gold Of late summer, of opening autumn, The dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree, The mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow Tinted apricot as she looked west, Tolerant, in her steadfastness, of the restless sun Forever rising and setting. Now I am given A taste of the grey foretold […]...