The Poetry Of..
Harold Lorin......................................................................
Spring Morning
Spring morning in the Unimagined City
Violets and tulips bloom beneath the pear trees.
Children, with their hands in father's hands,
Or walking in large noisesome groups
Are hurrying to schools where
Teachers wait for them at open doors.
In the park there is a screen of leafing
We are all young, the earth is young, even the sun.
And the wind off the river seems like
The very breath of God.
Achilles
I was not asked to make Achilles choice
On terms I would surely have rejected.
(Life is brief enough)
Heroic immortality
What is it? Who knows your name
Knows what of you? Nor cares to know
The moments when you grieved or sighed
Or wished that you could die in quiet.
Your children will know your name
Though they will not know much of you.
Perhaps some historian or biographer
Will reconstruct you from his own imagination.
Little of you will be there.
But that too will pass.
This place in the Heavens will soon be empty.
Days
Days you dream of happen by surprise
Known only in reprise and recollection.
We are spread across the bay.
Matt on his Laser is down by the narrows,
Lucy is swimming in the cove
We are on the Beagle in the channel.
We watch our no longer children
As the sinking sun pinks the sail
.
It is long since it has been as
We had thought it was.
She does not come often.
He is once more going far away.
We will be again on empty waters.
There will be unused boats.
Unanswered questions.
Days you desire happening by surprise.
Main Page
This site sponsered by
|
<![CDATA[<xmp>
<body>
]]> | | |