Saturday, April 29, 2017


"All poets are manic depressive." ~Donald Hall

fall deaths tripped a switch, then
too busy, too excited, inspired

too many easy poems
quieter now, is melancholy

descending, again? at my age?
but in fragrant spring

for the first time?
in the past dread winter

would bring me low, almost below
ground--this is, as wallace stevens

had it, a new knowledge of reality
the neighboring leafless red

bud trees fill me with hope
i clip by hand the flattened weed

grasses skipped by my soundless bird
inviting reel mower and i feel well

copyright © 2017 by patrick o'hayer

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