Robert Rorabeck Poems

Sky enamel the cross with light,
Beside the highway without a savior,
You are for the tourists now,
For little children at their games,
...

The last thing the downed pilot sees
Is the octopus’ inky fear;

His victor confesses, he relives the startled
...

Raindrops rush to kiss their shadows;
On the street, the ineffective weaponry of little tears,
They become something else,
The stanzas to the prism’s blush,
...

If it pleases you then yes;
If it does not please you, then forget it:
For I am displeased with my form, and I would like to
Travel around a rich cul-de-sac in a park
...

Wept the Lord on her doorstep,

“But I loved you for
A burning summer;
...

I am touching on you
The places you cannot feel.
When you look up,
It is only coincidence,
...

God touched the
Charismatic youth on
His subtle shoulder and spoke,
“I like this one.”
...

With the daylight dancing
invisible truth in tiny heated
segments of God being played out
through the day’s household,
...

I wait for customers in this bay,
Or I read Anne Sexton and hope for quaint
Stigmata, like overly dramatic Catholic plays:
Or the overly education girls from the peripheries
...