Tom Montag
from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems
The Bitterness
The bitterness
of cedar
in such hard
country, the line
of the falcon
straight to business,
and this wind
without mercy.
Another Coyote Lesson
Always where
goodness is,
sorrow stood.
They won't tell you
more than that.
I Suppose I Could
I suppose I could
leave a poem
in these soft hills
as the old masters
would, knowing
as they did that
all we do is
like wind in grass
and nothing more.
It Is What It Is
It is what it is
without meaning, wind
in the dry grasses,
caressing the only
land it has. Make
of it what you can.
Coyote Says
Coyote says,
Never give up,
and the hawk
agrees.
Out here in this
great wideness,
stubbornness
is what you need,
and patience, grace,
strength, and all
the hard luck you get.
HOW CLEAN
How clean
the shine
of the
robin's
bones in
July
sun — skull,
breast, what
once was
wing. Loss
is like
that, bright
in the
outside
moment
before
darkness
takes what
remains.
THE POET
Listen,
he says.
And then
he says
nothing.
THE POEM
I sometimes hope
to find it, or —
if not — to see
its shadow, to
hear the sound of
it passing by.
As the light fades
I still wait for
something, some wind
on the hairs of
my arm like the
touch of a ghost,
some whispering
as if the last
words of dying
stars at the far
end of what's left
when hope is lost.
Tom Montag is recently the author of In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013; This Wrecked World; The Miles No One Wants; and Imagination's Place: The Old Poet Poems. His Love Poems has just come out from Architrave Press. He has been a featured poet at Atticus Review, Contemporary American Voices, Houseboat, and Basil O'Flaherty Review. Montag has been writing and publishing poetry and creative nonfiction for more than fifty years in a wide variety of little magazines. He was a founding contributing editor for The Pushcart Prize and he blogs at The Middlewesterner. With David Graham he is currently co-editing an anthology of poetry about small town America.
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from The Wishin' Jupiter Poems
The Bitterness
The bitterness
of cedar
in such hard
country, the line
of the falcon
straight to business,
and this wind
without mercy.
Another Coyote Lesson
Always where
goodness is,
sorrow stood.
They won't tell you
more than that.
I Suppose I Could
I suppose I could
leave a poem
in these soft hills
as the old masters
would, knowing
as they did that
all we do is
like wind in grass
and nothing more.
It Is What It Is
It is what it is
without meaning, wind
in the dry grasses,
caressing the only
land it has. Make
of it what you can.
Coyote Says
Coyote says,
Never give up,
and the hawk
agrees.
Out here in this
great wideness,
stubbornness
is what you need,
and patience, grace,
strength, and all
the hard luck you get.
HOW CLEAN
How clean
the shine
of the
robin's
bones in
July
sun — skull,
breast, what
once was
wing. Loss
is like
that, bright
in the
outside
moment
before
darkness
takes what
remains.
THE POET
Listen,
he says.
And then
he says
nothing.
THE POEM
I sometimes hope
to find it, or —
if not — to see
its shadow, to
hear the sound of
it passing by.
As the light fades
I still wait for
something, some wind
on the hairs of
my arm like the
touch of a ghost,
some whispering
as if the last
words of dying
stars at the far
end of what's left
when hope is lost.
Tom Montag is recently the author of In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013; This Wrecked World; The Miles No One Wants; and Imagination's Place: The Old Poet Poems. His Love Poems has just come out from Architrave Press. He has been a featured poet at Atticus Review, Contemporary American Voices, Houseboat, and Basil O'Flaherty Review. Montag has been writing and publishing poetry and creative nonfiction for more than fifty years in a wide variety of little magazines. He was a founding contributing editor for The Pushcart Prize and he blogs at The Middlewesterner. With David Graham he is currently co-editing an anthology of poetry about small town America.
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