Biography of Glenn Bagshaw
Born, living, destined to die................
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....
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.
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
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!
On Turning Twenty-One
On Turning Twenty-One (the sound, the fury) With today, twenty-one years
Ezra Pound's Cantos
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!
We move, like an insolvent, touring band;
and when we go, we're blurred you understand.
We leave the kettle on, TV blaring
drool half the cake, dreary novel wearing
just grasp of space that hands once held before.
Pronounce the sentence. Who'll read anymore?
and then when gone, who'll mention us again?
One summer, three friends sailed quite near to Spain