Gregory Orr Poems

A black biplane crashes through the window
of the luncheonette. The pilot climbs down,
removing his leather hood.
He hands me my grandmother's jade ring.
...

This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.
...

A house just like his mother's,
But made of words.
Everything he could remember
...

After our march from the Hudson to the top
of Cemetery Hill, we Boy Scouts proudly endured
the sermons and hot sun while Girl Scouts
...

Here's a seed. Food
for a week. Cow skull
in the pasture; back room
where the brain was:
...

for Peter Orr

When all the rooms of the house
fill with smoke, it's not enough
...

Snapping turtles in the pond eat bass, sunfish,
and frogs. They do us no harm when we swim.
But early this spring two Canada geese
lingered, then built a nest. What I'd
...

I felt both pleasure and a shiver
as we undressed on the slippery bank
and then plunged into the wild river.
...

I stood inside myself
like a dead tree or a tower.
I pulled the rope
of braided hair
...

Hunkered down, nerve-numb,
in the carnal hut,
the cave of self,
while outside a storm
rages.
...