Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dream-
ing so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it?
A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled
back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beau-
tiful day. How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a little
ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.

Dream On

© James Tate

Some people go their whole lives

without ever writing a single poem.

Days of Pie and Coffee

© James Tate

A motorist once said to me,

and this was in the country,

A Knock On The Door

© James Tate

They ask me if I've ever thought about the end of

the world, and I say, "Come in, come in, let me

The Lotus

© Rabindranath Tagore

On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying,

and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

O Fool

© Rabindranath Tagore

Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy---take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.

My Friend

© Rabindranath Tagore

Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.

A Description of the Morning

© Jonathan Swift

Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach

Appearing, show'd the ruddy morn's approach.

I prithee spare me gentle boy

© Sir John Suckling

I prithee spare me gentle boy,
Press me no more for that slight toy,
That foolish trifle of an heart;
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy pow'r and art.

Words

© Ruth Stone

Wallace Stevens says,
"A poet looks at the world
as a man looks at a woman."

This Strangeness in My Life

© Ruth Stone

It is so hard to see where it is,

but it is there even in the morning

The Trade-off

© Ruth Stone

Words make the thoughts.

Severe tyrants, like the scrubbers

Spring Beauties

© Ruth Stone

The abandoned campus,

empty brick buildings and early June

So What

© Ruth Stone

For me the great truths are laced with hysteria.
How many Einsteins can we tolerate?
I leap into the uncertainty principle.
After so many smears, you want to wash it off with a laugh.
Ha ha, you say. So what if it's a meltdown?
Last lines to poems I will write immediately.

Repetition of Words and Weather

© Ruth Stone

A basket of dirty clothes

spills all day long

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