Peter Kerry Powers’s Reviews > The Collected Poems > Status Update

It was when the trees were leafless first in November And their blackness became apparent, that one first Knew the eccentric to be the base of design

Perhaps it's the lunch that we had Or the lunch that we should have had. But I am, in any case, A most inappropriate man In a most unpropitious place.

Nota: his soil is mans intelligence. That's better. That's worth crossing seas to find

Rationalists, wearing square hats,
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses--
As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon--
Rationalists would wear sombreros.

Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness; And, in the isolation of the sky, At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink, Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

Nota: his soil is mans intelligence. That's better. That's worth crossing seas to find

Like a dull scholar,i behold,in love an ancient aspect,touching a new mind It comes,it blooms,it bears its fruit and dies This trivial trope reveals a way of truth Our bloom is gone.We are the fruit thereof Two golden gourds distended on our vines Distorted by hale fatness,turned grotesque We hang like warty squashes,streaked and rayed The laughing sky will see the two of us Washed into rinds by rotting winter rains

Like a dull scholar,i behold,in love an ancient aspect,touching a new mind It comes,it blooms,it bears its fruit and dies This trivial trope reveals a way of truth Our bloom is gone.We are the fruit thereof Two golden gourds distended on our vines Distorted by hale fatness,turned grotesque We hang like warty squashes,streaked and rayed The laughing sky will see the two of us Washed into rinds by rotting winter rains