Explore Poems: Optimism

Under a spreading chestnut-tree
    ⁠The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
    With large…

These are your stones, assembled in matchbox and tin,
collected from roadside, culvert, and viaduct,
battlefield…

It's important she says that summer
Flatten itself against autumn. That it keep Insisting yes yes it'…

At last I’m taking off this coat,
      this black coat of a country
      that I swore for years was mine,
      that I wore more out of habit
      than design.
      Born...

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry …

Take all summer,
your ember from the sun,
its walking meditation. Store it in small
vaults of light to …

Un club nocturno no hace un verano
Mas creo en el perreo
Eterno recreo
En la agitación de la masa crítica…

A nightclub doesn’t make a summer
I believe more in perreo
Play everlasting
In the agitation of a critical…

   They had already sat down on the bed. Then the man
remembered the back door was still open. He groped…

As a quiet little seedling
    Lay within its darksome bed,
To itself it fell a-talking,
    And this is what…

I saw new Worlds beneath the Water ly,
New Peeple; yea, another Sky
And Sun, which seen by Day
Might things…

11 River of our substance
Flowing
With the rest. River of the substance
Of the earth's curve, river of …

Now by what whim of wanton chance
Do radiant eyes know sombre days?
And feet that shod in light should…

The feel of a much needed hug in a moment of sorrow
An unexpected helping hand from the stranger
The curl of the tiniest of fingers wrapped trustingly around your own
A gentle breeze on the cusp of Autumn
And the way a leaf...

Let’s try this:
If you’re dead, blink twice
I promise the second time will be incredible

Hagamos algo:
Si estás muerto parpadea 2 veces
Te prometo que la segunda vez será increíble

Love is boring and passé, all that old baggage,
the bloody bric-a-brac, the bad, the gothic,
retrograde, obscurantist hum and drum of it
needs to be swept away. So, night after night,
we sit in the dark of the Roxy beside grandmothers
with their shanks...

In this life, there are stars
and there are stunt doubles.

Before I became one of those fathers
obsessed with memorizing his lines,
making peace with the Big Director
in the sky who doesn’t like ad libs,
before all that, I was the star
of my own...

For my people everywhere singing their slave songs
     repeatedly: their dirges and their ditties and their blues
     and jubilees, praying their prayers nightly to an
     unknown god, bending their knees humbly to an
     unseen power; For my people lending their strength to the years, to the
    gone years and the now years and the maybe years,
    washing ironing cooking scrubbing sewing mending