michael hogan

Rookie - 119 Points (July 14,1943 / Newport, Rhode Island)

michael hogan Poems

1. How Prisoners Walk 4/25/2012
2. To A Dog That Followed Me This Morning 4/25/2012
3. Smoking On The Fire Escape 5/9/2012
4. Depression 5/9/2012
5. The Boy With Green Eyes 5/9/2012
6. Visitation Rights 5/9/2012
7. Telegram 5/9/2012
8. For A Student Tempted By Suicide 5/9/2012
9. Mother And Child 5/9/2012
10. Leaf Burning 5/9/2012
11. Resistance 5/13/2012
12. Golden 5/13/2012
13. Photo Of My Father, Age 61 6/29/2012
14. How A Planet Stays In Orbit 2/23/2013
15. The Patio At Dusk 2/28/2013
16. The Poet As Teacher 2/28/2013
17. Hair Broker,1861 2/28/2013
18. Freedom 2/28/2013
19. Dry Thoughts In A Rainy Season 2/28/2013
20. Learning 2/28/2013
21. Dear One 2/28/2013
22. In Bogotá 2/28/2013
23. Last Night You Had The Saddest Eyes 5/18/2012
24. Ornithology 2/28/2013
25. Mexican Produce 2/28/2013
26. Refusing To Be Ghosts 5/12/2013
27. Good Friday In Providencia 3/28/2013
28. The Field 8/26/2013
29. Aftermath 9/1/2013
30. A Name 5/13/2012
31. Expatriate 2/28/2013
32. 2380 Market Street 5/13/2012
33. And The Livin' Is Easy 4/25/2012
34. Christmas Morning In Providencia 12/25/2013
35. New Year 1/1/2014
36. Dog Days 2/16/2014
37. Another Reason For Loving Mothers 2/23/2014
38. Wood Chips And Pine Straw 4/11/2014
39. Great-Grandmother's Eyes 5/13/2012
40. In Memoriam 9/1/2013
Best Poem of michael hogan

Dragons

In memoriam Francis X. Hogan (1913-1974)

On Sunday mornings in March my father
would take a homemade kite broad as his back
up the hill near Reeve's Farm.
This was how men learned of flight
he told me then.

Racing down that hill to catch the wind
where there was none to speak of,
the kite (gradually lifting) caught at last
on a thermal from the sea his running almost reached.
He told me breathless watching it rise:
The Chinese were the first.
They made them shaped like dragons
which in those days roamed the whole earth
free and ...

Read the full of Dragons

Spring

Ice has been cracking all day
and small boys on the shore
pretending it is the booming of artillery
lie prone clutching imaginary carbines.

Inside the compound returning birds
peck at bread scraps from the mess hall.

Old cons shiver in cloth jackets

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