Ross Cohen
Ross Cohen Poems
Grackle,
You’ve murdered brother crow
And stolen his totem spot
Atop our local mythology.
...
I could never compete with you
Lightfoot, skipping across the moss
and stone.
I crashed through tangled woods,
...
After the Thanksgiving
Meal, we pressed the cane.
The stripped stalks were cut;
...
The sea turns youth into an aged thing:
Wood worked by Protean hands, strong lines
Changed into faded and level grain.
White rings surround a browned
...
After the apple’s plucked from the tree, and upkicked clay dust settles,
Two lovers sit: somber, engaged with shame, drinking bodies on a higher level.
Running from calamity, fugitives from languor and bliss,
...
Cairn-filled, rock crag, grackle-sound in sunken stonework.
Lost are bearings, lost the sure footings I set
Down before this: a broken quarry
Chock-full of broken
...
The key is to get all things plumb and level.
All that sand down and bevel
-ing is prelude to the squaring,
Though it’s only natural
...
And then the flags were raised
Blades of grass catching the wind.
And we gathered underneath, each
A yeoman beneath his standard.
...
Ross Cohen Biography
Ross Cohen graduated from Eckerd College in 2008 with a degree in English Literature. He currently teaches high school English in Alamo, Texas. Ross occasionally reads his poems at Steel City Coffee House in Pheonixville, Pennsylvania where he can also be seen performing songs. Ross cites T.S. Eliot, Seamus Heaney, Ted Hughes, and Leonard Cohen as his primary influences.)
The Best Poem Of Ross Cohen
Grackle
Grackle,
You’ve murdered brother crow
And stolen his totem spot
Atop our local mythology.
Grackle,
Strop-beaked marauder
stepping lightly, spearing
Toads, over razor grass.
Grackle,
The cloth is seldom tossed
Over your sky; you: blind
To the dimming dark, deaf
To the silence of midnight.
You’d sing the world to sleep
If only your song-strings weren’t tuned
To cackle, to unsettle, never to soothe.
Grackle,
Pale-eyed and pupiled,
A ring of chalk light
Set in a vacant heaven,
A perpetual eclipse.
Grackle,
Dressing the boney yew tree
In blue-black leaves
That shutter in their own wind,
That shutter in their
own wind,
that shutter
in their
own wind.
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4/19/2024 1:02:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
