Charles Fisher Poems

Here is my hand to keep
My heart not yet
Take it, and do not weep
That I have met
...

Lovers lying side by side
Feel the flowing of a tide
Deeper than an earthly one
Swifter and more magical
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Bewildered by metamorphosis, the prince
Tried his new limbs and wept, discerning too late
Her scorn for one so easily released
From spells (that kiss, you gather, was not the first).
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The cloak of words, the wand
Held now in this square hand,
Might of their obstinate art
take the sad stars apart
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No lamp so bright
As this whose fist of light
Beats on my table
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Not much by way of luggage or farewell
Here at Southampton harbour. Be it so.
Whatever might be said is said by now
As one by one along a warehouse wall
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Musical as birds are the Cammarch waters I see
Keeping the white, slow village; and all around
Lie the familiar meadows. Bitterly
Have I missed you, Cammarch, and my own high ground.
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Mozart, a lorgnette's target, child without toys,
Consumed utterly by his own costly gift,
Disdaining the dancers by his precocity
Was rewarded at length with a formal curtsy.
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In the bright city, bombs are breaking like flowers;
Over the houses, lamps and lanterns are drifting
Clearer than moonlight, white as Lucifer
Or drop, spilling the light into the crawling fires
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Stared from a human house
Your death was ominous
So formal. With Madrid
fell and encircled head,
...