Fist
by Philip Levine
Iron growing in the dark,
it dreams all night long
and will not work. A flower
that hates God, a child
tearing at itself, this one
closes on nothing.
Friday, late,
Detroit Transmission. If I live
forever, the first clouded light
of dawn will flood me
in the cold streams
north of Pontiac.
It opens and is no longer.
Bud of anger, kinked
tendril of my life, here
in the forged morning
fill with anything — water,
light, blood — but fill.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Anarchy by Satish Verma
- Travel to Infinite Places by Michael Levy
- The end by Mahak Raithatha S
- With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh by William Wordsworth
- Николай Заболоцкий – Все, что было в душе
- A Death-Day Recalled by Thomas Hardy
- Farewell to Hsin Chien at Hibiscus Pavilion by Wang Wei
- Psalm 08 poem – John Milton poems
- Владимир Костров – В керосиновой лампе
- Robert Burns: My Father Was A Farmer:
- Song-Books of the War by Siegfried Sassoon
- Doors Of The Temple poem – Aldous Huxley poems | Poetry Monster
- Константин Батюшков – Мщение
- A Vision by Robert Burns
- Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
Philip Levine ( 1928 – 2015) was an American poet best known for his poems about working-class Detroit. He taught for more than thirty years in the English department of California State University, Fresno and held teaching positions at other universities as well. He served on the Board of Chancellors of the Academy of American Poets from 2000 to 2006, and was appointed Poet Laureate of the United States for 2011–2012