Add to ORKGI would write with the wind in my hand: I would smash with foamy fists of waves At the fracturing ice of spring, And lift the mallows in the marsh;..
the earth bearing scars of careless surgery lies naked in the wind bleeding leaves which spurt from ...
The winter night comes; a cold, wet, towel across our eyes. T h e edges will be lifted in the mornin...
This poem, written in one sitting on a Sunday morning, is a reflection not only on the transition be...
If I could but record the Mystification of the Wind Mingled with the promptings of The disturbed hea...
April, Its spent blossoms Blown in drifts on the lawn, Lifts its many promised fingers To May..
Small buds drip green dew That soft winds lay down; Rain touches gently the earth And I see spring..
Unclad, the bony fingers on the lawn Reach skyward, clutching at the cold gray blast That stripes th...
The dry day dies as many have before, In the steel-gray death of a bloodless sun; Mortician night sh...
I SHIVERED underneath by heavy coat and forced my mittened hands more firmly into my pockets. The wi...
Dirty thick wind Howling, sniffing and hissing Bruising trees and houses, Brawling with itself In it...
It is midsummer now When even the greens turn Hot Shiny shimmery intense green Cornfield Passing war...
Someday through a silvery moonglow a voice will open a howl will scatter the stars, a shriek not ent...
I pause and watch the mallards spear The air in long, ragged V-lines, Ragged like the stalk-littered...
Long waves now frozen high and hard on sand, Divorced from an angry broken mass of sea Still seek a ...
When the last of the wood has been gathered in, And the stove shows rust where polish has been, The ...
the earth bearing scars of careless surgery lies naked in the wind bleeding leaves which spurt from ...
The winter night comes; a cold, wet, towel across our eyes. T h e edges will be lifted in the mornin...
This poem, written in one sitting on a Sunday morning, is a reflection not only on the transition be...
If I could but record the Mystification of the Wind Mingled with the promptings of The disturbed hea...
April, Its spent blossoms Blown in drifts on the lawn, Lifts its many promised fingers To May..
Small buds drip green dew That soft winds lay down; Rain touches gently the earth And I see spring..
Unclad, the bony fingers on the lawn Reach skyward, clutching at the cold gray blast That stripes th...
The dry day dies as many have before, In the steel-gray death of a bloodless sun; Mortician night sh...
I SHIVERED underneath by heavy coat and forced my mittened hands more firmly into my pockets. The wi...
Dirty thick wind Howling, sniffing and hissing Bruising trees and houses, Brawling with itself In it...
It is midsummer now When even the greens turn Hot Shiny shimmery intense green Cornfield Passing war...
Someday through a silvery moonglow a voice will open a howl will scatter the stars, a shriek not ent...
I pause and watch the mallards spear The air in long, ragged V-lines, Ragged like the stalk-littered...
Long waves now frozen high and hard on sand, Divorced from an angry broken mass of sea Still seek a ...
When the last of the wood has been gathered in, And the stove shows rust where polish has been, The ...
the earth bearing scars of careless surgery lies naked in the wind bleeding leaves which spurt from ...
The winter night comes; a cold, wet, towel across our eyes. T h e edges will be lifted in the mornin...
This poem, written in one sitting on a Sunday morning, is a reflection not only on the transition be...