From city lights to starry nights,
512 miles till' country's home.
Packed vans and shouting kids,
settled with lunch at the orange moose.
Bakery fresh donuts and delicious local meat,
Apple trees and fresh peas.
Fights with 3 turned 9 times as long,
yells from 2 turned 11 times as long.
Check the traps to Earl's Bar,
beer in 1 hand and pipe in the other.
The blue bridge turned grey,
grandparents hair turned white.
Beautiful river to swim and skate,
pollution left carp irate.
The sweet aroma of summer and winter,
the stench of turkeys and smog.
Crunchies not so much anymore,
apple trees gone forever.
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Things to See
A Web Book of Poets and Poems
This blog is an anthology of poetry by students in a class at Iowa State University. The material in these poems matters. Readers beware.
Topography
After we flew across the country we
got in bed, laid our bodies
delicately together, like maps laid
face to face, East to West, my
San Francisco against your New York, your
Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
burning against your Kansas your Kansas
burning against my Kansas, your Eastern
Standard Time pressing into my
Pacific time, my Mountain Time
beating against your Central Time, your
sun rising swiftly from the left your
moon rising slowly from the left my
moon rising slowly from the right until
all four bodies of the sky
burn above us, sealing us together,
all our cities twin cities,
all our states united, one
nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
--Sharon Olds
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Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota
Over my head I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.
--James Wright
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