Robert Ronnow


Robert Ronnow Poems

121. Blackbrush 1/19/2015
122. Sunset 4/1/2015
123. The Seasons Inure Us To Loss 4/5/2015
124. To The Gods 4/8/2015
125. White Waits 4/12/2015
126. Wetland Song 4/14/2015
127. Birding By Ear 4/26/2015
128. Of Judith And Inanna 5/11/2015
129. Jones' Nose 6/4/2015
130. Bad Movie 6/10/2015
131. Max Joy Marries Minnie Pain 6/17/2015
132. No Cows To Look At 6/24/2015
133. Courage 7/1/2015
134. Dad's Bark 7/8/2015
135. In A Day 7/15/2015
136. All The Worlds There Are 7/22/2015
137. Acceptance 8/5/2015
138. The Wound That Never Heals 9/17/2015
139. Purposes Incomprehensible And Wonderful As These Purposes 9/24/2015
140. Get The Most Out Of Life Of Pi 10/23/2015
141. Lazy, Happy 11/18/2015
142. Netflix, Hulu 12/11/2015
143. Problems 1/6/2016
144. Morsel Of Biomass 2/4/2016
145. What Have I Seen? 2/20/2016
146. Aaron's Coconut 3/2/2016
147. The Secret Of Quality Is Love 4/11/2016
148. A Job In The Garden Of Eden 5/4/2016
149. Fundamental Physics 10/27/2016
150. Material Life 10/28/2016
151. Enduring Spinning 12/6/2016
152. The Ordinary Care Of Providence 12/6/2016
153. Nineteen Minutes To Bedtime 12/21/2016
154. Urination, Don't Take It For Granted 12/27/2016
155. Long As You're Living 1/18/2017
156. Exponential Decay Function 2/8/2017
157. Aging As A Spiritual Practice 3/7/2017
158. Antifragility 4/4/2017
159. Out Of Emptiness 5/9/2017
160. The Master Algorithm 6/6/2017
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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