Where fog trails and mist creeps,
The whistle of a boat
Calls and cries unendingly,
Like some lost child
In tears and trouble
Hunting the harbor’s breast
And the harbor’s eyes.
Similar Posts
They all want to play Hamlet.
Nor their mothers in a frame-up to kill,Nor an Ophelia lying with dust gagging the heart,Not exactly the spinning circles of singing golden spiders,Not exactly this have they got at nor the meaning of flowers–O flowers, flowers slung by a dancing girl–in the saddest play the inkfish, Shakespeare ever wrote;Yet they all want to play…
WHEN the sea is everywhere
when the salt and bluefill a circle of horizons ..I swear again how I knowthe sea is older than anything elseand the sea younger than anything else.My first father was a landsman.My tenth father was a sea-lover,a gipsy sea-boy, a singer of chanties.(Oh Blow the Man Down!)The sea is always the same:and yet the sea…
I REMEMBER the Chillicothe ball players grappling the Rock Island ball players in a sixteen-inning game ended by darkness.
And the umpire’s voice was hoarse calling balls and strikes and outs and the umpire’s throat fought in the dust for a song.
Bend low again, night of summer stars.
So near, a long-arm man can pick off stars,Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl,So near you are, summer stars,So near, strumming, strumming,So lazy and hum-strumming.
The lawyers, Bob, know too much.
They know it all, what a dead hand wrote,A stiff dead hand and its knuckles crumbling,The bones of the fingers a thin white ash.The lawyers knowa dead man’s thought too well.In the heels of the higgling lawyers, Bob,Too many slippery ifs and buts and howevers,Too much hereinbefore provided whereas,Too many doors to go in and…
Here is dust remembers it was a rose
Here is dust remembers it was a womanone time and in her hair lay a rose.Oh things one time dust, what else now is ityou dream and remember of old days?