Charles Simic

(9 May 1938)

Charles Simic Poems

1. Mirrors At 4 A.M 4/6/2015
2. My Shoes 5/25/2015
3. The Melon 11/17/2015
4. Empire of Dreams 11/23/2015
5. Pigeons at Dawn 6/18/2015
6. On this Very Street in Belgrade 5/16/2015
7. Secret History 3/17/2015
8. Autumn Sky 4/28/2015
9. Crazy About Her Shrimp 12/15/2014
10. The Wooden Toy 1/13/2003
11. The Something 1/13/2003
12. This Morning 1/13/2003
13. Pocket Theatre 1/13/2003
14. The White Room 1/13/2003
15. The Oldest Child 1/13/2003
16. The Supreme Moment 1/13/2003
17. White 1/13/2003
18. To The One Upstairs 1/13/2003
19. The Bather 1/13/2003
20. Wherein Obscurely 1/13/2003
21. Summer In The Country 1/13/2003
22. Private Eye 1/13/2003
23. Late September 1/20/2003
24. Read Your Fate 1/13/2003
25. The Initiate 1/13/2003
26. Talking To Little Birdies 1/13/2003
27. The Partial Explanation 1/13/2003
28. Paradise Motel 1/13/2003
29. The School Of Metaphysics 1/13/2003
30. Heights Of Folly 1/13/2003
31. Watermelons 1/13/2003
32. Errata 1/13/2003
33. A Book Full Of Pictures 1/13/2003
34. Hotel Insomnia 1/13/2003
35. Country Fair 1/13/2003
36. Clouds Gathering 1/13/2003
37. Eyes Fastened With Pins 1/13/2003
38. Against Winter 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Charles Simic

Against Winter

The truth is dark under your eyelids.
What are you going to do about it?
The birds are silent; there's no one to ask.
All day long you'll squint at the gray sky.
When the wind blows you'll shiver like straw.

A meek little lamb you grew your wool
Till they came after you with huge shears.
Flies hovered over open mouth,
Then they, too, flew off like the leaves,
The bare branches reached after them in vain.

Winter coming. Like the last heroic soldier
Of a defeated army, you'll stay at your post,
Head bared to the first snow flake.
Till a neighbor ...

Read the full of Against Winter

Pocket Theatre

Fingers in an overcoat pocket. Fingers sticking out of a black leather glove. The nails chewed raw. One play is called "Thieves' Market," another "Night in a Dime Museum." The fingers when they strip are like bewitching nude bathers or the fake wooden limbs in a cripple factory. No one ever sees the play: you put your hand in somebody else's pocket

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