Archive of Poems Archives - DON SILVER, Author
Divorce
on April 12th, 2013 in Poems by donsilver | Comments Off on DivorceThe boy sitting at the piano is seven. He is wearing pajamas and swinging his feet. Above him is a poster of a mountain village we bought before he was born, when we were still a couple, waiting uneasily for our first child together. It was dicey for a…
Continue reading...Family Trip
on March 24th, 2010 in Poems by donsilver | Comments Off on Family TripI’m walking beside them in Pompeii. We’re tourists of course. I’m thirteen, big lips, blue blazer, man’s trench coat, pair of beginner balls dangling. Every so often, kneeling to touch the ground, I pick something up — keys, coins, a ticket to the locker my mother keeps her superstitions in.What’re…
Continue reading...Forgive Your History
on June 1st, 2008 in Poems by Don Silver | 1 CommentFrom beneath the mist I see a yellow candle by the bed flicker. . A voice whispers forget about accounting for what is and just be. . Everything I wished for once disappeared in the night like a giant freighter down a river of longing toward the horizon. . All…
Continue reading...Ripening, Wendell Berry
on May 6th, 2007 in Poems by Administrator | Comments Off on Ripening, Wendell BerryRipening, by Wendell Berry The longer we are together the larger death grows around us. How many we know by now who are dead! We, who were young, now count the cost of having been. And yet as we know the dead we grow familiar with the world. We, who…
Continue reading...VI. Crazy Jane Talks With the Bishop
on September 1st, 2006 in Poems by Don Silver | Comments Off on VI. Crazy Jane Talks With the BishopI met the Bishop on the road And much said he and I. ‘Those breasts are flat and fallen now, Those veins must soon be dry; Live in a heavenly mansion, Not in some foul sty.’ ‘Fair and foul are near of kin, And fair needs foul,’ I cried. ‘My…
Continue reading...Dear Abby, Tony Hoagland
on July 27th, 2006 in Poems by Don Silver | Comments Off on Dear Abby, Tony HoaglandDear Abby: My father is a businessman who travels. Each time he returns from one of his trips, his shoes and trousers are covered with blood — but he never forgets to bring me a nice present; Should I say something? Signed, America.
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