Categories
Poetry

Companions

By Tom Merrill

Companions
 
Composing the flock I thought I heard
     When wonder drew me out the door,
A solitary mockingbird,
     Busily being more,
 
Absorbed in his little crowd of sounds,
     A parody of me,
Was gathering in his singleness
     Some songs for company.

First published in The HyperTexts

Poems by Tom Merrill have recently appeared in two novels as epigraphs. He is Poet in Residuum at The HyperTexts and Advisory Editor at Better Than Starbucks.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Categories
Poetry

Blessing the Cup

By Tom Merrill

      
 
 While morning yet was rose,
 not thorn,
 earth glistening
 as if newly born,
 I came across
 a romance here:
 he hadn't seen
 the shadows clear,
 nor seemed
 to be at all aware;
 she watched,
 and was content to stare.
  
 I thought of how a love began,
 of Eden, too,
 the dawn of man
 and how that garden
 turned to grief;
 of sorrow
 borne without relief;
 and yet,
 I did not fail to bless
 the tainted cup of happiness,
 nor reverently to tiptoe by
 this sleeper in the flower's eye.
   

Poems by Tom Merrill have recently appeared in two novels as epigraphs.He is Poet in Residuum at The Hypertexts and Advisory Editor at Better Than Starbucks.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Categories
Poetry

Clocking a Harvester

By Tom Merrill

Clocking a Harvester by Tom Merril

Clocking a harvester,
from nut to underground larder and back,
              I found the course consistently run
              in thirty-five,
              forty seconds maximum—
              and I clocked his clockwork awhile;

and seeing how hard he worked
at building up his stockpile—
at such a relentlessly steady pace—
              and since a rest seemed due,
              I slipped out and scattered a few
              by the hole to his home.

              When I looked, later on,
              they were gone.
I had put out the peanuts to see
if the jays
or the squirrels would get to them first, but instead
               found a new mouth to feed—

               not at all to complain. Truth be told,
               sharing such stores I suppose is an old
               custom of mine,
and recalls a time
when all my best handfuls were aimed
at arming another against the coming cold.


Poems by Tom Merrill have recently appeared in two novels as epigraphs.He is Poet in Residuum at The Hypertexts and Advisory Editor at Better Than Starbucks.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL