Soil entombs no deeper chagrin for gilded nativity than barned birth So how does empty blue of sky exult any more than the brown odor of earth?
Category: poetry
As Old as the Ages, As Young as Today
She slowly slips out of dark's star-jeweled robe to don, and then undress, the orange rind bikini— a blush as shameless as Venus dimming— and arrays—again, as slow as longing— the vast blue skirt of the sun. What is the pun in this riddle?
Weaning
In the slow, urgent cadence of cattle, the black cows move again across a landscape of yellow grass and snow to where they last heard the familiar bawl, dumb to all but ache— whether of teat or heart we men cannot know, though we watch and have had familiar loves that for a summer of … Continue reading Weaning
Haiku 8
To see hunter's moon slide door open and startle— deer shadows, gone.
Birthday, Christmas and Father’s Day Gifts: Some Advice
Lavender, scarlet, emerald or sky mottled blue! Or (if you must purchase white) mother of pearl. I’m tired of pea office green and deadly plain suits I don’t wear and am belittled for not by insinuating, superior, Misses, Mrs.s, ms.s, madams, misters, and sirs who snoot and practically sniff (unless they’re assessing sallow or black). … Continue reading Birthday, Christmas and Father’s Day Gifts: Some Advice
Two-fer-Tuesday on Wednesday
under this lonely moon bemused by a solitary goose 'wonkg'— wanting the perfect V migration
Late. Aspen leaves rustle shake glints of harvest moon— GeWongk of geese fades south. In response to the Ragtag Community WoD: panoply
A Holiday to Inner Harbor, Baltimore
An idle afternoon to finger lace with suburban longing and taste our unhungry way through a day, when she came upon us like salvation. Please sir please may I wash your windows Please sir I’m trying to feed my little girls I’ve got GlassClean. And we gazed over glinting water and the dance of sails— … Continue reading A Holiday to Inner Harbor, Baltimore
Hot wind, leaves rustle, flash green then silver with sun— Christmas tree lights! copious
The Child in Toe Shoes
She bends her bones to fling them high, a gawky graceful, nearly flawless dance, but the stodgy Envies snicker why slipper pinches will one day wince a cry against the hour she donned them just to dance, she bends her bones to fling them high. Spare no worry on the gargling sigh of those old … Continue reading The Child in Toe Shoes
Home of Have, Poems by Lee Robison 