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THIRTEEN (FOR MY DAUGHTER)
Life is made for a thirteen-year old girl. All that is strange and entertains us in this world Is made for her, from the carefully painted toes To the old, comedy television shows Produced by...
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PAINTING WITH MY LEFT HAND
The universe spins in a certain direction; That’s how we know we’re—here. This line moves at a certain speed: Music finds its beat. Conversations are clear. But it’s not the business of poetry to...
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POEMS WRITE ME
Poems write me Even as I die in this boring life With business matters dangling over the days and the wife. A sentence keeps me in line. The soil is usually a line or a phrase, Which may end up being...
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EGOTISTICAL SUBLIME
I thought: What is this world? What is all this? And then I saw four letters Staring at me from the label on a stranger’s coat, Their back to me on the train. T-O-M-S. And it grabbed me by the throat....
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I WANTED TO PAINT A POEM FROM WHAT SEEMED TO ME ETERNAL IN MY MIND
A man cannot say, ‘I will compose poetry.’ The greatest poet cannot say it, for the mind in creation is like a fading coal… —Shelley, Defense of Poetry Oh poetry revels in picturesqueness; Bushes,...
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SHE COULDN’T FEEL
“Blue moon, I saw you standing alone.” —old song They grew apart For they were as together as they could be. She couldn’t feel. He couldn’t see. They grew apart As only lovers can, As only a woman and...
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WAS THERE EVER A YOU?
I made that poetry proudly, A little bit of emotion, an idea or two. In love, I write for the one I love. But was there ever a you? I, in love, loved loudly, Too much emotion, which emotion knew. In...
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UNFORTUNATELY THERE IS ONE
Unfortunately there is one Who cannot love; who is a photograph, but not the sun. A photograph is produced with a sudden, narrow light On a flat surface: sometimes we mistake it for real sight And...
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I SUFFER BECAUSE I LOVE
I suffer because I love. I hear sighs in the corridors of the day. I long for suffering love, because this is what will stay. If I must suffer, love, let me suffer because of you. Suffering without...
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I LOVED HATE
She was like my mother, self-loathing and sad, Comparing herself to others, and always feeling bad, Taking out her aggression on yard waste, alone. I saw my lover as my mother, unconsciously. Groan....
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TO YOU, THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS THIS
To you, the only one who knows this, I dedicate this, Simply. Without a sound. Without a kiss. I learned from you what is best for me. You improved me. That was part of our destiny. There was… love,...
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THE EARTH TAUGHT HER CHILDREN TO BEFOUL HER
The earth taught her children to befoul her. You are my Central Park. You are the landscape for loving a shadow’s deepening. You are the landscape for which I apply. You are the landscape not of talk...
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I NEED TO WRITE THIS POEM FAST
I need to write this poem fast. This inspiration will not last. Yes, look how love between two people disappears In a cloud of tears. My inspiration’s source will always exist, though. Remember when...
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AT LOVE’S
When do you love the doctor? When I am sick. And when do you hate the doctor? When I am well. When do you love the lover? When I am sick. And when do you hate the lover? Stay. And I’ll tell.
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FOR LIZ
I cannot love. I can drive a car. I can be kind. I can work. I cannot love. I can play the piano. I can write poetry. I can feel excitement. I cannot love. I can cook and tend a garden. I can avoid...
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WHEN SHE SAID NEVER
Love is that tragedy Which is always affecting me In funny ways. A composer died of a broken heart, But listen how beautifully his music plays And still it lives, and will live forever. The composer...
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I’LL WOO HER BACK WITH POETRY
I’ll woo her back with poetry Because that’s how I won her first. Maybe she doesn’t love me— Maybe my poems will fail— But miss a chance to love? To love her! That’s worse. I already love her, the...
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WHEN YOU SEE THE WEATHER COMING OVER THE TREES
When you see the weather coming over the trees You wonder what the world is hiding: In the next town, perhaps, she is on her knees, The rain clearing, the brightening sky Changing the whole look of...
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ART APPRECIATION
Incapable of love, All you do is seduce. You are not the real fruit— But the perfume, the juice. Incapable of thought, You fashion the noose. You revel in surfaces. Your philosophy: the excuse....
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UNTIL I’M CAPTURED AGAIN
Until I’m captured again I will love the chain, and pretend You are on the other end. You captured me—almost—completely. But since no one is ever free— Again and again you torture me, For that is...
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