The Elementary Scene
Looking back in my mind I can see
The white sun like a tin plate
Over the wooden turning of the weeds;
The street jerking a wet swing
To end by the wall the children sang.
The thin grass by the girls’ door,
Trodden on, straggling, yellow and rotten,
And the gaunt field with its one tied cow
The dead land waking sadly to my life
Stir, and curl deeper in the eyes of time.
The rotting pumpkin under the stairs
Bundled with switches and the cold ashes
Still holds for me, in its unwavering eyes,
The stinking shapes of cranes and witches,
Their path slanting down the pumpkin’s sky.
Its stars beckon through the frost like cottages
(Homes of the Bear, the Hunter of that absent star,
The dark where the flushed child struggles into sleep)
Till, leaning a lifetime to the comforter,
I float above the small limbs like their dream:
I, I, the future that mends everything.
Related poetry:
- The Winter Scene I The rutted roads are all like iron; skies Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling In the bare woods, or the hardy bitter-sweet; Drivers have put their sheepskin jackets on; And all the ponds are sealed with sheeted ice That rings with stroke of skate and hockey-stick, Or in the twilight cracks with […]...
- Night-Piece Ye hooded witches, baleful shapes that moan, Quench your fantastic lanterns and be still; For now the moon through heaven sails alone, Shedding her peaceful rays from hill to hill. The faun from out his dim and secret place Draws nigh the darkling pool and from his dream Half-wakens, seeing there his sylvan face Reflected, […]...
- The Waradgery Tribe Harried we were, and spent, Broken and falling, Ere as the cranes we went, Crying and calling. Summer shall see the bird Backward returning; Never shall there be heard Those, who went yearning. Emptied of us the land; Ghostly our going; Fallen like spears the hand Dropped in the throwing. We are the lost who […]...
- A Death – Scene “O day! he cannot die When thou so fair art shining! O Sun, in such a glorious sky, So tranquilly declining; He cannot leave thee now, While fresh west winds are blowing, And all around his youthful brow Thy cheerful light is glowing! Edward, awake, awake – The golden evening gleams Warm and bright on […]...
- Buffalo Bill BOY heart of Johnny Jones-aching to-day? Aching, and Buffalo Bill in town? Buffalo Bill and ponies, cowboys, Indians? Some of us know All about it, Johnny Jones. Buffalo Bill is a slanting look of the eyes, A slanting look under a hat on a horse. He sits on a horse and a passing look is […]...
- The Fan LOVELY Semiramis Closes her slanting eyes: Dead is she long ago. From her fan, sliding slow, Parrot-bright fire’s feathers, Gilded as June weathers, Plumes bright and shrill as grass Twinkle down; as they pass Through the green glooms in Hell Fruits with a tuneful smell, Grapes like an emerald rain, Where the full moon has […]...
- Solitude at an Inn Oft upon the twilight plain, Circled with thy shadowy train, While the dove at distance coo’d, Have I met thee, Solitude! Then was loneliness to me Best and true society, But ah! how alter’d is thy mien In this sad deserted scene! Here all thy classic pleasures cease, Musing mild, and thoughtful peace; Here thou […]...
- Insomnia. Homer. Taut canvas Insomnia. Homer. Taut canvas. Half the catalogue of ships is mine: That flight of cranes, long stretched-out line, That once rose, out of Hellas. To an alien land, like a phalanx of cranes – Foam of the gods on the heads of kings – Where do you sail? What would the things Of Troy, be […]...
- Domestic Scene The meal was o’er, the lamp was lit, The family sat in its glow; The Mother never ceased to knit, The Daughter never slacked to sew; The Father read his evening news, The Son was playing solitaire: If peace a happy home could choose I’m sure you’d swear that it was there. BUT The Mother: […]...
- T of the Fifth Scene in the Second Act of Athalia Enter, as in the Temple of Jerusalem, ATHALIA, MATHAN, ABNER [Mathan] WHY, to our Wonder, in this Place is seen, Thus discompos’d, and alter’d, Juda’s Queen? May we demand, what Terrors seize your Breast, Or, why your Steps are to this House addrest, Where your unguarded Person stands expos’d To secret Foes, within its Walls […]...
- Spirit That Form'd This Scene SPIRIT that form’d this scene, These tumbled rock-piles grim and red, These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks, These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness, These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own, I know thee, savage spirit-we have communed together, Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; Was’t charged against my chants they […]...
- An Autumn Rain-Scene There trudges one to a merry-making With sturdy swing, On whom the rain comes down. To fetch the saving medicament Is another bent, On whom the rain comes down. One slowly drives his herd to the stall Ere ill befall, On whom the rain comes down. This bears his missives of life and death With […]...
- Fall Understand the language Of fall, approaching: Cold mornings Drawing your bundled warmth; Sailing-leaf afternoons, The enchantment of melancholy, Departure etched In the bronze of light Whispering with the wind; Its shimmering tones marking time Like the strike of a gong, Soft, yet insistent. (2000)...
- Flight Of Stairs Stairs fly as straight as hawks; Or else in spirals, curve out of curve, pausing At a ledge to poise their wings before relaunching. Stairs sway at the height of their flight Like a melody in Tristan; Or swoop to the ground with glad spread of their feathers Before they close them. They curiously investigate […]...
- The Orient Express One looks from the train Almost as one looked as a child. In the sunlight What I see still seems to me plain, I am safe; but at evening As the lands darken, a questioning Precariousness comes over everything. Once after a day of rain I lay longing to be cold; after a while I […]...
- Holy Sonnet VI: This Is My Play's Last Scene, Here Heavens Appoint This is my play’s last scene, here heavens appoint My pilgrimage’s last mile; and my race Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace, My span’s last inch, my minute’s latest point, And gluttonous death, will instantly unjoint My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space; But my ever-waking part shall see that […]...
- Quick! We Have But a Second Quick! we have but a second, Fill round the cup while you may; For time, the churl, hath beckon’d, And we must away, away! Grasp the pleasure that’s flying, For oh, not Orpheus’ strain Could keep sweet hours from dying, Or charm them to life again. Then, quick! we have but a second, Fill round […]...
- The Lacking Sense Scene. A sad-coloured landscape, Waddon Vale I “O Time, whence comes the Mother’s moody look amid her labours, As of one who all unwittingly has wounded where she loves? Why weaves she not her world-webs to according lutes and tabors, With nevermore this too remorseful air upon her face, As of angel fallen from grace?” II – “Her look is but […]...
- Wind in the Beechwood The glorying forest shakes and swings with glancing Of boughs that dip and strain; young, slanting sprays Beckon and shift like lissom creatures dancing, While the blown beechwood streams with drifting rays. Rooted in steadfast calm, grey stems are seen Like weather-beaten masts; the wood, unfurled, Seems as a ship with crowding sails of green […]...
- Corn Hut Talk WRITE your wishes on the door and come in. Stand outside in the pools of the harvest moon. Bring in the handshake of the pumpkins. There’s a wish for every hazel nut? There’s a hope for every corn shock? There’s a kiss for every clumsy climbing shadow? Clover and the bumblebees once, High winds and […]...
- Daughter leaves and leaving call october home Her daughter releases wood Smoke from her skin Rich in scorpio Blood survived the first Flood each new year marks A circle around her Thick bark middle This the month summer and Winter fall into each Other and leave orange Yellow ashes The vibrancy of death Carry it all […]...
- The End Of The Weekend A dying firelight slides along the quirt Of the cast iron cowboy where he leans Against my father’s books. The lariat Whirls into darkness. My girl in skin tight jeans Fingers a page of Captain Marriat Inviting insolent shadows to her shirt. We rise together to the second floor. Outside, across the lake, an endless […]...
- Common Cold Go hang yourself, you old M. D.! You shall not sneer at me. Pick up your hat and stethoscope, Go wash your mouth with laundry soap; I contemplate a joy exquisite I’m not paying you for your visit. I did not call you to be told My malady is a common cold. By pounding brow […]...
- The House Of Dust: Part 03: 05: Melody In A Restaurant The cigarette-smoke loops and slides above us, Dipping and swirling as the waiter passes; You strike a match and stare upon the flame. The tiny fire leaps in your eyes a moment, And dwindles away as silently as it came. This melody, you say, has certain voices- They rise like nereids from a river, singing, […]...
- In the shadow of a broken house In the shadow of a broken house, Down a deserted street, Propt walls, cold hearths, and phantom stairs, And the silence of dead feet – Locked wildly in one another’s arms I saw two lovers meet. And over that hearthless house aghast Rose from the mind’s abyss Lost stars and ruined, peering moons, Worlds overshadowing […]...
- Christmas Morn Cold frosty mornings Ice on window pain Huddle under coats Keep the warmth in Tiptoe down the stairs All quiet and hushed Barge through the door To see what’s waiting for us. A Christmas tree sparkling, Multi coloured lights, Large shiny baubles, and An angel smiling with delight. Paper chains, garlands Bells, stars and balloons […]...
- Dream Song 89: Op. posth. no. 12 In a blue series towards his sleepy eyes They slid like wonder, women tall & small, Of every shape & size, In many languages to lisp ‘We do’ To Henry almost waking. What is the night at all, His closed eyes beckon you. In the Marriage of the Dead, a new routine, He gasped his […]...
- Journey Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me-I am so tired, so tired Of passing pleasant places! All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed; Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand […]...
- Cloris, it is not thy disdaine CLORIS, it is not thy disdaine Can ever cover with dispaire Or in cold ashes hide that care Which I have fedd with soe long paine, I may perhaps myne eyes refraine 5 And fruiteless wordes noe more impart, But yet still serve, still serve thee in my hearte. What though I spend my haplesse […]...
- A Coloured Print by Shokei It winds along the face of a cliff This path which I long to explore, And over it dashes a waterfall, And the air is full of the roar And the thunderous voice of waters which sweep In a silver torrent over some steep. It clears the path with a mighty bound And tumbles below […]...
- Smoke Smoke, it is all smoke In the throat of eternity. . . . For centuries, the air was full of witches Whistling up chimneys On their spiky brooms Cackling or singing more sweetly than Circe, As they flew over rooftops Blessing & cursing their Kind. We banished & burned them Making them smoke in the […]...
- Having Lost My Sons, I Confront The Wreckage Of The Moon: Christmas, 1960 After dark Near the South Dakota border, The moon is out hunting, everywhere, Delivering fire, And walking down hallways Of a diamond. Behind a tree, It ights on the ruins Of a white city Frost, frost. Where are they gone Who lived there? Bundled away under wings And dark faces. I am sick Of it, […]...
- Sonnet V: O! How Can Love O! How can LOVE exulting Reason queil! How fades each nobler passion from his gaze! E’en Fame, that cherishes the Poet’s lays, That fame, ill-fated Sappho lov’d so well. Lost is the wretch, who in his fatal spell Wastes the short Summer of delicious days, And from the tranquil path of wisdom strays, In passion’s […]...
- The Rear-Guard Groping along the tunnel, step by step, He winked his prying torch with patching glare From side to side, and sniffed the unwholesome air. Tins, boxes, bottles, shapes too vague to know, A mirror smashed, the mattress from a bed; And he, exploring fifty feet below The rosy gloom of battle overhead. Tripping, he grapped […]...
- Grey Hairs These are ashes of treasures: Of hurt and loss. These are ashes in face of which Granite is dross. Dove, naked and brilliant, It has no mate. Solomon’s ashes Over vanity that’s great. Time’s menacing chalkmark, Not to be overthrown. Means God knocks at the door Once the house has burned down! Not choked yet […]...
- At Sea As night hath stars, more rare than ships In ocean, faint from pole to pole, So all the wonder of her lips Hints her innavigable soul. Such lights she gives as guide my bark; But I am swallowed in the swell Of her heart’s ocean, sagely dark, That holds my heaven and holds my hell. […]...
- Pumpkins in our time For months on end the pumpkins lay at peace, Their parent vines had all but browned and died Although a stubborn tendril here and there had Tried to grow again – glyphosate soon ended That attempt at insurrection. There were ten Back then, though only nine survived, the unlucky One caught rot and slowly died, […]...
- Salve! TO live within a cave it is most good; But, if God make a day, And some one come, and say, ‘Lo! I have gather’d faggots in the wood!’ E’en let him stay, And light a fire, and fan a temporal mood! So sit till morning! when the light is grown That he the path […]...
- The Anniversary “This bunch of violets,” he said, “Is for my daughter dear. Since that glad morn when she was wed It is today a year. She lives atop this flight of stairs Please give an arm to me: If we can take her unawares How glad she’ll be!” We climbed the stairs; the flight was four, […]...
- The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo I On the Coast of Coromandel Where the early pumpkins blow, In the middle of the woods Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-BС‚. Two old chairs, and half a candle, One old jug without a handle, These were all his worldly goods: In the middle of the woods, These were all the worldly goods, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-BС‚, Of […]...