Great author to check out: Sometime ago I came across the poetry of August Kleinzahler. A selection of his poetry appeared in 2017: Before Dawn on Bluff Road/Hollyhocks in the Fog: Selected New Jersey Poems/Selected San Francisco Poems. For more info: via my blog: https://www.josephmurphypoet.com/blog/
The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness. —James Gates Percival
I paced the flying bridge.
Dawn: only my watch awake;
heat still bearable.
No scent or sight of land; no other vessel.
Our bow cadent: lifting, lowering;
Easy to imagine
none had set that course;
come that far.
© Joseph Murphy 2018
From Having Lived (Kelsay Books, 2018)
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. —Robert Frost
In that spring’s first true gleam,
Lightening creased the walls
And thunder gathered the rarest of fragrances
Into its mouth.
The water from my tipped bowl
Spilled down a mountain the height of a ****; the breeze
Read aloud evening’s first page.
It was then that rain rose from the soil
And a star descended
Through the roots of these words.
The evening became brighter, quieter:
No minute hand’s clatter broke through;
No wheel skidded past.
Time became nothing more or less than time.
I cast my lines ashore: sang as prow and sail burned,
Knowing my wounds would heal.
Thoughts that had been tightly woven spun loose.
That evening’s warmth lingered on my bare shoulders;
The scent of damp loam sweetened the air.
In that enormous space,
Our past seemed no more than a whisper
Sensed at the edge of sleep.
© Joseph Murphy 2017
Newly plowed fields leant me their brilliance.
The breeze hailed furrows in my wake; churned
and noon’s heady brine.
But a robin dove
to bumper height; struck; cart-wheeled
into the brush,
emptying my hands.
©Joseph Murphy 2018
— The End —