November Poems: 19 / 500

Angle Of Geese

Rating: 3.2

How shall we adorn
Recognition with our speech?—
Now the dead firstborn
Will lag in the wake of words.

Custom intervenes;
We are civil, something more:
More than language means,
The mute presence mulls and marks.

Almost of a mind,
We take measure of the loss;
I am slow to find
The mere margin of repose.

And one November
It was longer in the watch,
As if forever,
Of the huge ancestral goose.

So much symmetry!—
Like the pale angle of time
And eternity.
The great shape labored and fell.

Quit of hope and hurt,
It held a motionless gaze
Wide of time, alert,
On the dark distant flurry.

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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dr Antony Theodore 11 December 2019

Quit of hope and hurt, It held a motionless gaze Wide of time, alert, On the dark distant flurry... very fine poem. tony

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Smoky Hoss 02 April 2018

Momaday writes not only from the heart, but also so movingly with the soul. BEAUTY of life put perfectly into word. My spirit applauds.

2 0 Reply
Angelina Holmes 06 May 2014

Cute poem. I like the way you write.

3 0 Reply