James Galvin

(1951 / Chicago, Illinois)

James Galvin Poems

1. On First Seeing a U.S. Forest Service Aerial Photo of Where I Live 2/11/2016
2. Anthropology 3/25/2017
3. Depending on the Wind 3/25/2017
4. Double Rainbow 3/25/2017
5. Explication of an Imaginary Text 3/25/2017
6. Fire Season 3/25/2017
7. Getting a Word In 3/25/2017
8. Hermits 3/25/2017
9. I Looked for Life and Did a Shadow See 3/25/2017
10. The Last Man's Club 3/25/2017
11. The Measure of the Year 3/25/2017
12. Notes for the First Line of a Spanish Poem 3/25/2017
13. On the Sadness of Wedding Dresses 3/25/2017
14. Rintrah Roars 3/25/2017
15. Roadside Ditch Natura Morta 3/25/2017
16. Stories Are Made of Mistakes 3/25/2017
17. The Story of the End of the Story 3/25/2017
18. Three Sonnets 3/25/2017
19. Western Civilization 3/25/2017
20. Wildlife Management I 3/25/2017
21. Wildlife Management II 3/25/2017
22. Wildlife Management III 3/25/2017
23. You Know What People Say 3/25/2017
24. Art Class 3/25/2017
25. Blue Or Green 1/28/2015
26. Dear Miss Emily 1/30/2015
27. To The Republic 1/20/2003
28. Station 1/20/2003
29. Post-Modernism 1/20/2003
30. Two Horses And A Dog 1/20/2003

Comments about James Galvin

  • Vicentwilliam (2/1/2018 10:05:00 PM)

    Hei James this Span is true to win iPhone x

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Best Poem of James Galvin

Two Horses And A Dog

Without external reference,
The world presents itself
In perfect clarity.

Wherewithal, arrested moments,
The throes of demystification,
Morality as nothing more
Than humility and honesty, a salty measure.

Then it was a cold snap,
Weather turned lethal so it was easier
To feel affinity
With lodgepole stands, rifted aspens,
And grim, tenacious sage.

History accelerates till it misses the turns.
Wars are shorter now
Just to fit into it.

One day you know you are no longer young
Because you've stopped loving your own ...

Read the full of Two Horses And A Dog

To The Republic

fences the first sheepmen cast across the land, processions
of cringing pitch or cedar posts pulling into the vanishing
point like fretboards carrying barbed melodies, windharp
narratives, songs of place, I'm thinking of the long cowboy
ballads Ray taught me the beginnings of and would have taught
me the ends if he could have remembered them.
But remembering
was years ago when Ray swamped for ranches at a dollar a day

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