Robert Rorabeck Poems

Unoriginal swan in the middle of the street
Do you not know that it never snows here- and if
You have come to see your similar beauty in
The conflagrations of the sea,
...

Marmalade on the lips of a bumble bee
On the lips of my muse: there you are cavorting in
The backyard, while all of the cars
Are sunken into the canal: your breasts are beautiful
...

Purple is the throat of the pagan flowers
Up the Welsh slopes and their darker sisters- where
It rains unevenly for the weeks, and keeps the tourists
Inside- and the kings there wear antlers,
...

Then here I am softly impressed- when tomorrow I will
Get up and sell fireworks through the thundershowers:
I will keep on getting up and impressing from my
Little house,
...

Soft in that touch of clouds: dying a bachelor alone
At a baseball game
Without the touch of his dogs- while beneath his
Casket and Snow white
...

Up in the clove of death: Mars, Phobus and Demos
Circling,
And little cherished starlets: Alma gets her nails done
Before she goes up to see her
...

Alchemist
You begin a poem shirtless
In the landscaping outside of your
Home room class
...

Sensory cocoons the miners going into
Mines,
The moon rises up its lantern to see what she
Can steal as she finds what she can find:
...

Spokes on bicycles
Falling through her hair- as if birds
Realizing they are on holiday,
As the waves leap like dogs:
...

Sing into the open mouthed
Void of woe begone
After the fireworks of holidays have
Died
...