#AmericanWriters
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since depart… Marked the mastodon, The dinosaur, who left dried token… Of their sojourn here
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs.
We were entwined in red rings Of blood and loneliness before The first snows fell Before muddy rivers seeded clouds Above a virgin forest, and
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
FOR DAVID P—B The eye follows, the land Slips upward, creases down, forms The gentle buttocks of a young Giant. In the nestle,
There is no warning rattle at the… nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer… Safe in the dark prison, I know t… light slides over the fingered work of a toothless
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an att…
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
Give me your hand Make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry.
I keep on drying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs,
We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of lonelines… until love leaves its high holy te… and comes into our sight
The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that… Some people wrap their lies around… And you sit wondering