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
- A Pastoral Upon The Birth of Prince Charles: Presented to the King, and Set by Mr Nic. Laniere by Robert Herrick
- black_on_black.html
- golden_eangle.html
- The Song For Colin by Sara Teasdale
- Modern Nature poem – Andrei Voznesensky poems
- Flute-Priest Song For Rain poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Звездочет
- Алексей Толстой – Шумит на дворе непогода
- Михаил Лермонтов – Что толку жить!.. Без приключений
- Sonnet 02 poem – John Milton poems
- Владимир Набоков – Лыжный прыжок
- Михаил Кузмин – Все дни у Бога хороши
- On Moonlit Heath and Lonesome Bank poem – A. E. Housman
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Тост
- A Ritual To Read To Each Other by William Stafford
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