Robert Rorabeck Poems

The mountains are whistling:

Jing, jingle-lang, jingle-loo
...

Words in dying error:
Kiss the wrong girl,
Or don’t kiss at all:
...

Unfitted, the zoo sleeps well concealed;
The bachelors are moaning their ghazals,
Their lungs are wheezing like sick balloons,
Since they can see her through their bars;
...

Remember nothing,
And that is good....

Go after every new day like
...

Come to the new land of vibrant filament,
Like phosphorescent moss on the underside of the hazel planet
In the wet spots where caterpillars best transform,
Where the angels are talking at the end of their chords;
...

Broken for so long without any glue,
Like glass on the short arch of the bridge leading home:
The color is beautiful but dangerous to touch,
For it has been hording sun, and the edges are sharp:
...

And sun, and sun, and sun, and sun,
And night, and night, and night, and night.
We get up and revolve, eat, make love:
Some of us go down to the park and swing,
...

Now the sun is on the lip of the canyon and
She is utterly biting him to keep him there
And outline her long body to the strange settlers in her;
But he will not tarry, for he is tired too,
...

Nothing yet to do but to distill
My bone:
Sweaty on the concrete the young
Skeletons fart at their game,
...

There are unreal lands where
Maidens love me
Blue maidens and
Yellow maidens and
...