ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 18

SURVIVAL
Survive the summer, crumbs of dead leaves dropped by the...

THE DREAM OF LAST NIGHT
dreamt of rain...

INHERITANCE
you are heir to a hidden philosophy...

LAST DAYS OF SUMMER
the long dry spell weakens everything...

THE HARVEST
late afternoon...

A MAN
as I left there stood a man...

TIMES/STEPS/FUTURE/TRADE
the times I saw...

untitled
blank page: no wreck yet...

OUR NEIGHBORHOOD THE UNIVERSE
a black hole is empty...

A SQUIRREL MAKES A MEAL OF ACORNS
it looks up and sees...

THE DIVER
the tomb lid sketch a naked man his body arched...

MY FIT
my old clothes carry my old shape...

12/31/10
will I be silenced? yes...

DRIVING BY
a field of crows in winter...

LOSS AND GAIN
the wind that took...

MY INQUIRY
do you piss first thing when you get up...

THREE QUESTIONS
the last cold night passed...

HEMLOCK BLUFFS ONCE AGAIN
along the ridge...

NEWS
somewhere peace has begun...

untitled
we are always...

MY ENVIRONMENT MINUS ME
looks around...

THE WORLD WE ARE NOT IN
the known world...

WORLD NEWS
everything is a containment vessel...

BORROWED THEME
leaf lying there...

3/18/11
moon up...

IN THE HIERARCHY OF POETS
I attempt to find my place...

BEGIN HERE
the light inches forward...

MORE
the old: as they shrink...

WHAT IT IS
something has chosen me for its disguise...

FOLLOW
the one who disguised himself as rain--...

MORNINGS LIKE THIS
inside me...

NIGHT
the spatter on the boards...

TO REASON
I love you because I am not like you...

TO THOSE OF A DISTANT PLANET
there as here...

ERIC RENSBERGER
The date and cause of his death are unknown to the present...

BETWEEN STORMS
the sparrow's hop...

REPORTING ON MYSELF
who tried hardest with me?...

HERE
Here where the alleys cross all the ground has been asphalted...

MY DISASTER PLAN
I will write about it...

WHAT WE HAVE
one sky becomes another...

I RECALL A JUNE DAY IN THE FIFTIES
brief as any...

5/30/11
the wind-felled trees piled in the open...

AFTER EASILY
I take with me ...

EARLY HEAT WAVE
the new moon takes its pincers...

I DON'T LOOK AT PHOTOGRAPHS
so there's no way I'll be inspired...

OF STONE, STONE
to speak of stone...

PURSUIT
the zodiacal beasts bounding...

WE HAVE TO PROCEED CAUTIOUSLY
no one else must ever know what...

INSTANT
lightning that touches earth...

untitled
one stone with one name...

A UNIVERSE
upward is more or less forever...

YELLOW CREEK
each spring the plowing...

LEAVES AND RAIN
the leaves in the wind make a sound like rain...

LISTENING TO A TRAVELER
there you go in the dark...

THE LOSERS
when the bud can no longer strain against...

MY FATHER'S GRADUATION PORTRAIT
your youth faded far more swiftly...

POEM NOT DONE
two thirds...

THE PRESENT MOMENT
overall I'd have to say...

ORCHESTRAL ACCOMPANIMENT
the cicadas' strict song...

HOPE
Never easy in his mind, that man still keeps hoping. It's true:...

AT THE WINDOW LOOKING OUT
a narrow street comes to mind...

HOPE

Never easy in his mind, that man still keeps hoping. It's true:
the great keep wealth and power to themselves, liars prosper
because we love to hear a lie, each of us who fears another is 
feared by someone else, and we're all absolutely right to fear:
none is trustworthy. "So what is there to hope for?" That's not
the point. Justice, kindness, and peace of mind are meant for 
the realm of imagination, not for here. There, all sleep is pure 
and beautiful, the days are harmonious and even-paced. We would 
not fit in. The animals of that place would attack us as 
strangers who do not know how to treat them. We are of this
place, that always breeds some "next" from its "before". A tree
whose roots fail and branches fall is drilled with holes, some
featheration gets busy there, coos its tune from the opening,
eggs are begun. When one shade is struck down, the sunlight 
falling on the earth draws up another out of the seedlings. It's 
not so much that in this place everything exists in time, it's 
that time is in us, all of us, trees and rocks and airs included.
That man never easy in his mind doesn't really hope for help
coming from the hills or plains, seas or mountains--what he 
calls "hope" is time moving through him and leaving a trace he
can feel and must embody in an image of what has not yet come.


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