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Larry    Kimmel - Collected Poems Online                                
 

 

 

Winter Cottage


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Unworldly wind, and dark the midnight forest. So cold the 
branches click like antlers. Beyond that, not much to know.

In the black of nothing—
               phantom bucks
                              battle
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Spring Woods


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Skunk-cabbages that yesterday were green napkins folded to
stand upright,now forge the bog, swarm the wooded hillside . . .

 across the path
 a snake
 too cold to care
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After the Spade


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Tossed and meant for the field, but hanging looped and limp
from an apple bough, the snake's carcass.

after the spade
three inches and the tongue
still flickering
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Irises

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 ladies gathered for
 a garden tea and gossip
 irises in bloom

 

And in the summer breeze these now beige irises seem to nod and 
whisper, and if you listen closely—the faint rattle of tea cups.
____________________________


 

 

Strange Harvest

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His first day home on the farm, unscathed by combat, he loses 
an arm to the combine  harvester.

 last night
 a sister's auburn hair
 this morning white
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Bright Days


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Bright days, hand-in-hand—what a friendship we had then! 
You said, "The river is shampooing its hair," and we played 
Pooh sticks from its bridge.

                                       that glint
                                    in the forest -
                                  where did it go?
 ________________________________
               

 

 

 

The Home Front


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A lone bumble bee patrols a hole in the ground. Kill it and soon 
there's another. How am I to finish painting the house?

 

war and the rumors
      of war - still the routine
            of bee and clover
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Herr Stein


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I can still hear Herr Stein saying: " ... but it is a good F, in fact, if there 
was such a thing as an F+, that's what it would be."

 

               at the nursing home
                         explaining myself
                         to a puzzled man . . .
 ________________________________
               

 

 


Maybe


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No name on a deed; no retirement coming; as for steady work—forget it. 
Some think I live this carefree life. Maybe I do . . . maybe.

                      on my palm
                             this snowflake
                                  swiftly becoming . . .
 ________________________________

 

 

The Doe


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As the headlights touch her, her legs fold to unfold on the far side of 
the fence where she isn't . . . having vanished into thin dusk . . .

                                          gone -
                                  but the wonder
                                 of blood and spirit
                                        remains
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Bar Harbor


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October sunrise
        looking out to sea
               everything ship shape
 
And on the beach, overnight sculptures of stone, stacked 
by unseen hands.

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October Morning


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High and motionless, the hot-air balloon seems painted on the 
October sky.  Its flame, the distant roar of a Chinese dragon. 

 

               so vivid -
               her fresh
               tattoo
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Two Willows


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Like lavender weather on a blue-or-blush barometer, the chartreuse 
willow,  in my neighbor's lawn, stands between two weathers.

 yellow willows
 blown back
 bring Laura
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Winter Lightning


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Revealed as being himself, I hate a favorite uncle for not quite being 
my childhood hero.

 

               talking of old times
               as dusk crowds the kitchen window
               winter lightning
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Beyond Reason


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On this one way street, where two slatterns grapple over what? 
the evening traffic circumvents, discreetly.

 

 a flash of thigh
       taunts
 beyond reason
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From Now On


_____________________

 

She sleeps beside me bathed in moonlight. Saw what I saw, know 
what I know.  Great sex still, but no heart for lovemaking.
 
               is this it?
               an empty canoe
               on a river
               slow
               as from now on 
               
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Another Take on Saturday Morning


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Would like to be dark-haired, handsome, lean as a hickory, 
famous, and have a sense of well being—all on the same day.

 

greying at the temple
and still "the poem"
      unwritten
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Copyright © 2005 by Larry Kimmel