Robert Rorabeck Poems

I am imperfect
And its starting to rain.

I live at the house
...

I am in a house 8,000 feet above the ocean
Where I ponder the many souls inside the turn-abouts
Of cities,
The languid streets who lay shivering after a rain:
...

I walk to the back of the house and take off my boots.
This is in the middle of summer, monsoons,
But there are no mud daubers- that is good
Because I’ve become friendly with a widow spider
...

This moon,
This moon,
This moon is not real:
There is another moon up
...

Give me something to do for awhile-
Give me your eyes and don’t change them, even
Though I am not your man, and you don’t
Care. I told you I’ve been to Spain and seen Lorca
...

A viper bit me in the throat,
He said he love me but he don’t. Now
Here so close to the ground the sky is twirling,
Twirling mad around; and birds, who are little girls
...

There is a lonely God behind my eyes
Who still cries for you who are so far
Away, like a lost child forgotten who she is,
Her identity soothed away by time
...

Because there is nothing under the sad moon,
I keep singing to you from the inconsiderable house atop the hill;
My tears are falling where there use to grow
A thicket of anemones,
...

There will be no more days that flash in the yard,
The orchids in the trenches getting bigger as they grow-
The cicadas in the jugulars of lime trees,
And the chorus of young kittens up there all but learning to
...

The moon a yellow Pygmalion—
A venereal marionette dancing over
The best part of the city
The most beautiful of
...