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A BOOK OF POEMS
A book of poems is like a novel Which forgets itself from page to page. This one was published in 1990—The poet wrote it during the smirking age. Young in his photo, with a hint of a smirk,You can see...
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YOU
When I look back at life—The one that is mine but slipping away:I didn’t know what to do—I didn’t know what to say.I would write down laterThe words I should have said.O life of moments and...
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THEY LIVE LONG ENOUGH
They live long enough to think they are gods, And we who read their stories live long enough to think we are gods, Because after we read their stories we walk away from their stories, Leaving them...
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DOES MY MUSE
Does my muse care about my life?No, she doesn’t. “Tom,Why don’t you write about your children or your wife?”I do not, because schemesAre not poetic. DreamsAre what my muse desires.Bad choices destroy...
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LOVE’S THE ENERGY THAT’S ALWAYS NEW
Love’s the energy that’s always new. It’s always turning off. That’s why no one is ever true. I didn’t. And now I do. The sun’s the same, the morning’s new. Were you the one? Was it you? We are the...
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THE INSTITUTION OF LOVE
There needs to be an institution of love To make sure each and every lover is kind. For love is all, if there is an all— And no one knows another’s mind. When the mind seethes, The institution will...
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I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO CARES
I am the only one who cares.I am the genius of caring.I think how one care leads to moreAnd care is a towering networkOf numerous wiresRunning thru everyone we know.Love keeps me afloat—But I worry,...
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FALLING INTO THE SURGERY
How can a beautiful poet be a misanthrope? A poet is a surgeon to a patient on a table, Removing a little piece of ignorance. A poem is a knife to your ignorance, The words, a surgery performed...
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THE BEST THINGS HAPPEN
The best things happen when we’re waiting around, Not when we find something, but when we’re found. When I had absolutely nothing to do, Only then did I notice you. When I hurried from place to place...
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STANZAS FOUND IN A DIARY
When we play at love,The war beginsBetween all who lustAnd she who never sins. So then we die for loveUntil war ends,Because none who trust loveFind the bliss Cynthia sends. The moon throws her...
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ONLY UNDER THE MOST EXTREME CONDITIONS
That I glimpsed the wondersof poetryin the 1970sis a miracle. There wasn’tany poetry. The Nazishad killed itand the adolescent mewho found poemsin quaint old agesfound only embers of a firelong ago...
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LOVE
Love is any emotion you can’t explain.Love lives between the poem and its pain.Love makes you seek home and leave home.Company is love. But real love is being alone. She went out and saw couples outIn...
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BEN MAZER AND THE NEW ROMANTICISM A NEW BOOK BY THOMAS GRAVES, SCARRIET EDITOR
It is true. I have published a book and I hope you purchase Ben Mazer and the New Romanticism (available at Amazon, etc) because whether you agree with all of its contents—or half or 10%—you will be a...
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PLEASURE CHANGES US MORE THAN IT SHOULD
In our minds we think change is knowing.We know something now—And we are different from what we were.Robert Lowell always knewThe poem he wrote would change him.The professor asks: did this poem...
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WEATHER POEM
https://bolintin.bandcamp.com/track/weather-poem?fbclid=IwAR2y5jIgLcCYTQEIqCxgiJ-O6eO8mr5OIu5v1sSERX92qifMg2APyrrWCqM Cosmin Postolache – music, Dan Sociu – text, Thomas Graves – voice; translated...
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I WENT LOOKING FOR MY DESTINY
I went looking for my destinyAnd I found you, Destini.I climbed onto trains.I flew. I tried hospitalsFor cures. I took painsTo follow the logic of others.I admit, I began to panic.“Whorehouses and...
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MAN, THOSE DECADES IN AMERICAN POETRY WENT BY FAST
1770-1780 Phillis Wheatley (On Virtue) O thou bright jewel in my aim I striveTo comprehend thee. Thine own words declareWisdom is higher than a fool can reach.I cease to wonder, and no more...
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ON SEEING THE WORST POEM EVER WHICH RECEIVED 205 LIKES
The ether of Letters is sour.Is it possible no poet flies near the sun?We’ve never seen an age so busyWith poetry where nothing excellent is done. Criticism was never acceptedBy poets too proudTo sing...
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TO LIVE IS TO KILL
To live is to kill. From the moment of our birth We write our will, And in it, see our less than worth: To those we’ve left: we leave sorrow. We would have left less tomorrow. If the goal is smaller...
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