Poems by Philip Levine
House Of Silence
... On Saturdays like this the phone still rings for him ...
Ode For Mrs. William Settle
... Not one now remembers my name, not one recalls ...
Any Night
... That boy, walking alone, thinking of nothing ...
The Helmet
... into steel, and if hands could lay down ...
A Theory Of Prosody
... The first time she drew blood I learned ...
The New World
... Bread, onions, the smell of burning butter,small white potatoes we shared with no one ...
The Red Shirt
... "...his poems that no one reads anymore become dust, wind, nothing, ...
Voyages
... In fact I come home every year, I walk the same streets ...
For The Country
... The lights throw her shadow down the stairs ...
Milkweed
... The windows went dark first with rain ...
The Negatives
... In my mind Delain stands against the wall precise in detail, steadied ...
The Return
... Later he'd come home, his dress shoes coated with dust or mud, ...
The House
... in pressed shorts, or a plumber with a fat bag ...
Fist
... If I live forever, the first clouded light ...
Black Stone On Top Of Nothing
... I know this. I've walked by the same building year after year in late evening ...
