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Millay, Millay

Millay, Millay,

I saw you clad in your colourless plaid dress,

Ambling about those three islands in a fantastical bay,

The ones you spoke about when poetry found its renascence

Through your hands, which fed elegiac suns

Their share of glint and gold dust.

 

Millay, Millay,

I like to believe that the pigments of your dress escaped,

Only to seep into the roots of freedom a...

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edna st. vincent millayhomagePoetry

Plath's Poppies

Plath's poppies bloom
In days of gloom,
From July through October.
The scarlet florets burn like ember,
And line up before tombstones 
And hallucinatory portals.
Some look up to the sky, their eventual abode,
And some like a skirt, tent their petals. 
A sprightly bird's staccato trills 
Fragment further when hit by perils
That tag along with the siren of the ambulance
Carting a lady who...

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homagePoetrypoppiesSylvia Plath

The Hobo from Hoboken

The Hobo from Hoboken

How many homeless sleeping under the stars?
How many drunks cursing the bars?
Got people going way back in Cambria Wisconsin and then Oshcosh, then last heard of in Fessenden, North Dakota.
That's a hell of a name ain't it, Sarasota?
One of my favourite books 
' The Autobiography of a Supertramp'
William H Davies of Newport riding the box cars and losing his leg, sel...

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HoboHobokenWH DaviesSupertrampHomage

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