Robert Ronnow


Robert Ronnow Poems

41. When Peg Laughs Like Liz 12/3/2014
42. Geese In Winter 12/3/2014
43. Shape Of The Institution 12/3/2014
44. Cleaning Out Their House 12/3/2014
45. The Real Turtle Soup 12/3/2014
46. Electron Herders 12/3/2014
47. Blueberries 12/3/2014
48. Erythrocyte Sedimentation Rate 12/3/2014
49. Cast A Cold Eye And Wait 12/3/2014
50. The Shootist 12/31/2014
51. The Terminator 12/31/2014
52. Bone Music 12/31/2014
53. Cities In Flight 12/31/2014
54. Change 12/31/2014
55. This World Of Dew 12/31/2014
56. To Eat A Continent Is Not So Strange 12/31/2014
57. Searching For Symbols In A Town Without A River 12/31/2014
58. Penetrating The Unknown 12/31/2014
59. Morning Chores 12/31/2014
60. Rain 12/31/2014
61. Snake Creek 12/31/2014
62. This Looks Like Jump To Me 12/31/2014
63. Something 12/31/2014
64. Night 12/31/2014
65. Chambermaid With Ravens 12/31/2014
66. Peaches 12/31/2014
67. Family Of Weasels 12/31/2014
68. Ulzana's Raid 12/31/2014
69. The Snail Will Get To Easter Just As Soon 12/31/2014
70. The Recent And Long Dead 12/31/2014
71. Man's Machines 12/3/2014
72. The Dark Green Conifers 12/31/2014
73. Sub-Atomic Particles 12/31/2014
74. Engineers Know 12/31/2014
75. The End Of Faith 12/31/2014
76. Infestation 12/31/2014
77. Two Hawks Aloft 12/31/2014
78. The Perfect Year 12/31/2014
79. God Is Correction, Feedback And Bifurcation 12/31/2014
80. Until The Fight Is Done 12/31/2014
Best Poem of Robert Ronnow

To Have Loved Mary

Today is Sunday and I'm going to the ocean
or maybe not. Definitely not doing the laundry
or maybe I will. Moss and even a small tree
grow in the rotten stubs of the pier pilings.
The city is Seattle and it has a macho airport.

Give me the comfort of a moose knowing its
water supply. The mosquito's acceptance of its position
among a million mosquitoes. The pool of stagnant
water that remains one with the mothering ocean.
I drift on the air, less than a seed, a bacteria.

Or I am human, big dick, big brain containing
universal philosophic affidavit. ...

Read the full of To Have Loved Mary

The Listener

New York City is where people who are
disappearing go. It is very quiet
here, silent. A man and woman
made love below me. I could hear
the bedsprings ringing and the
woman singing in sensual pain.
My thoughts sped up as they humped
faster. Everything is dead in my room
except me and my plants. If I keep

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