I have always wanted a telescope
To drag to a high place to see a star
Or two, rubbing my cold hands together
And shivering with my breath down around
My shoulders, waiting for the chance to sight
A poet, Robert Frost and friend, themselves
Looking through their star-splitter for a glimpse
Of something magic, some merry treasure.
Posts Tagged ‘Robert Frost’
0
I
a cricket
gets eaten by my
black scorpion.
II
a cricket
wonders what Robert Frost
is doing.
III
a cricket
is waiting
for a blackbird.
IV
a cricket
digests my poetry
thoughtfully.
V
a cricket
chirps loudly somewhere in
my dark room.
Rain Starry Forest
Posted: September 24, 1990 in PoetryTags: Ezra Pound, Forest, Road, Robert Frost
I stood like Ezra Pound
in a wood like a tree and I listened
to things one normally does not see
when running pell-mell to get by
the forest true.
I was like Robert Frost
all because I reveled in the leaves
laid before me: deep, coarse, unleveled;
a road barely traveled by I
and a few.
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