Donald Hall

(20 September 1928 - / Hamden / Connecticut)

Donald Hall Poems

1. Her Long Illness 4/24/2015
2. The Seventh Inning 10/5/2015
3. Olives 11/29/2014
4. Closings 1/21/2015
5. The Painted Bed 3/16/2012
6. Gold 3/16/2012
7. The Things 3/16/2012
8. Tubes 3/16/2012
9. Safe Sex 3/16/2012
10. Ox Cart Man 3/16/2012
11. The Alligator Bride 1/3/2003
12. Je Suis Une Table 1/3/2003
13. Wolf Knife 1/3/2003
14. The Man In The Dead Machine 1/3/2003
15. Sudden Things 1/3/2003
16. Christmas Party At The South Danbury Church 1/3/2003
17. Mount Kearsarge Shines 1/3/2003
18. White Apples 1/3/2003
19. Distressed Haiku 1/3/2003
20. Name Of Horses 1/3/2003
21. Affirmation 1/3/2003
22. An Old Life 1/3/2003

Comments about Donald Hall

  • Sunita (8/25/2018 1:20:00 PM)

    Very vivid n evocative are your poems

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  • Ashley (7/1/2018 12:22:00 PM)

    Such evocative images - the colors and feelings of life. Love An Old Life.

  • George T Enoch (4/11/2015 6:37:00 AM)

    I wish to no more about him

  • Cornelius Siccama Cornelius Siccama (12/4/2012 5:22:00 AM)

    every time I reread the name of horses I have tears in my eye. Why? I guess it is about the most honest and upright way to convey the meaning of love

  • Sheila Pallay (10/27/2009 8:34:00 AM)

    I have been collaborating with Donald Hall for the past few years...combining his words and my photographs. If you like his poetry you should visit my website: www.eaglepondgallery.com

  • Lawrence Glendinning (9/14/2007 1:21:00 AM)

    I want to learn more about him

Best Poem of Donald Hall

An Old Life

Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
I broomed snow off the car
and drove to the Kearsarge Mini-Mart
before Amy opened
to yank my Globe out of the bundle.
Back, I set my cup of coffee
beside Jane, still half-asleep,
murmuring stuporous
thanks in the aquamarine morning.
Then I sat in my blue chair
with blueberry bagels and strong
black coffee reading news,
the obits, the comics, and the sports.
Carrying my cup twenty feet,
I sat myself at the desk
for ...

Read the full of An Old Life

White Apples

when my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear
                         I sat up in bed

and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door

white apples and the taste of stone

if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes

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