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Glenn Bagshaw Poems
Afternoon in Summer
Cloud-popping, blue-raved summer sky with light stuck out like a tongue: you're the gorgon's gaze to a warm, dry earth
Famous Lines from Love Poems Made into C...
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Shakespeare) You're hot in spots and then you fade away....
You think it's magic that light will climb the skies, that mind's inner math measures volumed world, and branch bobs bird as bird with branch replies; that no heart mends at midnight- whirl when hurled
The No-Light in the Head
When we finish our dance our bulk fills the ground, and the fear that we own is the thought of no- sound,
Allan Tate at Christmas
On this His winter's day the Christ bells ring that celebrate this season of despair. Returns the dear, wronged echoes that now sing in chorus, almost human, like a prayer.
She Remembers Him
-------------------- Drifting, shifting, silting snowflakes, moths upon the window sill
Cresting flowers are plumed as waves. Lives, our lives are smashed ashore. Slips rip tide, waves pour pounded mortal roar. The single life now drowns.
Dancing with Words
This modern step of time may turn my phrase- but now attend- see language as bequeathed. What sweep of lines from Homer's waltzing days shall partner me? Stride quick the speech received
A Mob of Yesterdays
If you turn from the midnight window, they peek in. Look, all you see is the shakened branch, grasping at wind. Yet the past will say why stars tremble. You, when awakened,
Lullaby of a Tired Mother
Evening falls, dawn shall break. I'm to pieces if you wake!
I'll Clearly Disappear
I’m in my great-grandmother's old photo album from ninety years ago, and I seem much the same. Sure, I'm gloss-finished, black and white, and yes, some frayed. Yet not so bad for my age. Looking much like her,
Hard Knocks High
Once as a child, I vaulted on sunbeams. By both those Dippers, I swam in the stars. Comet-tail laces bolted rings around Venus. I impressed like hammers-floored nightclubs on Mars!
Those given names when chosen seem to click with promise when the child arrives. Then worn, the name's a mirror not a blindfold pick! Know they're like babies: needed, almost born
He spoke to her two days before he died in the haunted room, now forever dark, and told her of a dream that had replied to the grief of their son's death by stark
Comments about Glenn Bagshaw
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Afternoon in Summer
Cloud-popping, blue-raved summer sky
with light stuck out like a tongue:
you're the gorgon's gaze
to a warm, dry earth
charmed almost stone.
For voice the sweeping laugh
of wind's your way.
Even the morning-marvelling birds
are almost crazed in the bright wideness
of your tuned world.
They cry the sun-thrilled call of:
Sky! Sky! Sky!
Wings fling in tree-tipped reach of vaulted runs
sun-dialed in time-
Inches the touch of thrifty night-
and, with thumb smudged in shadows,
snuffs out the light.