Give us poems

as hard as the sharp stones

beneath the feet

of Christ.


Give us poems

that insinuate their way

between dying fiery leaves:

squirrelish breezes

in the early burn

of dusk.


Give us poems

battered, worn-out,

damaged, suffering,

give us poems

that have seen better days,

give us a young widow's heart

seared by hot grief.


Give us odes

to the joy of morning,

irised light


the wet, lush grass.


Give us stubborn poems,

poems that won't budge,

impenetrable poems, 


thick as the ice

of a Minnesota lake

in the wince and grip 

of winter.


Give us laughter and colour,

drunkenness and jokes,

give us the come-hither look,

the blunt nudge of tongues,

the saucy dance of a language

frisky and lissome.


Give us ---

in the swelter of noon,

a haven of shade;

in the nerve-rattling din,

a cool pool of silence;

above the waste and wrack

of a ruined city,

the resolute and watchful purity

of a single lasting star.




Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 147 times
Written on 2017-10-05 at 23:30

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The poem I should reading over and over again. Thank you for writing this.

Wow! This packs a punch and pace, love the last two stanzas.

one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
This is outstanding—a declaration, forthright and wonderfully unambiguous.

Christopher Fernie
Give us a drum of poetry,
Give us a Tom-tom!

Bravo, dear pal,