All Poems

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I Sit By The Window

© Joseph Brodsky

I said fate plays a game without a score,
and who needs fish if you've got caviar?
The triumph of the Gothic style would come to pass
and turn you on--no need for coke, or grass.
I sit by the window. Outside, an aspen.
When I loved, I loved deeply. It wasn't often.

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Part Of Speech

© Joseph Brodsky

...and when "the future" is uttered, swarms of mice
rush out of the Russian language and gnaw a piece
of ripened memory which is twice
as hole-ridden as real cheese.

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remember

© W. Jude Aher

i saw their broken eyes
those that returned
from vietnam,
a (so called)
american war.

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cry your dreams

© W. Jude Aher

cry your dreams
child,
cry silent your screams
as

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evening

© W. Jude Aher

water for dance
shadows last.
walk the paris streets,
slow.

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shatter

© W. Jude Aher

nowhere left to go
standing,
at the crossroads
just a man.

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try

© W. Jude Aher

a song
wears
a long winter wind
and i

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sail on

© W. Jude Aher

sail on,
when the sun is gone
when the wind rises
off a river slow
when you hear no more
just silence

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long highway blues

© W. Jude Aher

highway dancing
during a long day
of running
my thumb,

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her south china sea eyes

© W. Jude Aher

young girl
with her south china sea
eyes
where an ocean wind
sighs
stands as she tries.

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when the merry pranksters paint

© W. Jude Aher

on years,
on the dance of whispers.
where have we gone

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the butterfly and the rose

© W. Jude Aher

i walk the dream
where the street
breathes in the shadow
of moon-light,
the lovers night.

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cold cold world

© W. Jude Aher

in the night
the deep deep night
do i dance
where mirror images
are lost within

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just keep dancing

© W. Jude Aher

lost in a mirror
star dreams
on a night stage.
before

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Those Winter Sundays

© Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

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The Whipping

© Robert Hayden

The old woman across the way
is whipping the boy again
and shouting to the neighborhood
her goodness and his wrongs.

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The Prisoners

© Robert Hayden

Steel doors – guillotine gates –
of the doorless house closed massively.
We were locked in with loss.

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Soledad

© Robert Hayden

Naked, he lies in the blinded room
chainsmoking, cradled by drugs, by jazz
as never by any lover's cradling flesh.

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Runagate Runagate

© Robert Hayden

Runagate
Runagate
Runagate

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Perseus

© Robert Hayden

Her sleeping head with its great gelid mass
of serpents torpidly astir
burned into the mirroring shield--
a scathing image dire