Thomas McGrath Poems
|1.||All the Dead Soldiers||5/29/2017|
|3.||Beyond the Red River||5/29/2017|
|4.||The Buffalo Coat||5/29/2017|
|5.||Celebration for June 24||5/29/2017|
|8.||The Little Odyssey of Jason Quint, of Science, Doctor||5/29/2017|
|9.||Many in the Darkness||5/29/2017|
|11.||Ode for the American Dead in Asia||5/29/2017|
|13.||The Progress of the Soul||5/29/2017|
|14.||The Topography of History||5/29/2017|
|16.||War Resisters' Song||5/29/2017|
|17.||The Crippled Artist||5/29/2017|
|18.||from Remembering That Island||5/29/2017|
|20.||Gone Away Blues||1/21/2015|
|21.||A Coal Fire In Winter||1/15/2015|
|22.||Such Simple Love||8/8/2015|
Comments about Thomas McGrath
Such Simple Love
All night long I hear the sleepers toss
Between the darkened window and the wall.
The madman's whimper and the lover's voice,
The worker's whisper and the sick child's call—
Knowing them all
I'd walk a mile, maybe, hearing some cat
Crying its guts out, to throttle it by hand,
Such simple love I had. I wished I might—
Or God might—answer each call in person and
Each poor demand.
Well, I'd have been better off sleeping myself.
These fancies had some sentimental charm,
But love without direction is a cheap blanket
And even if it did no one any ...
All the Dead Soldiers
In the chill rains of the early winter I hear something—
A puling anger, a cold wind stiffened by flying bone—
Out of the north ...
and remember, then, what's up there:
That ghost-bank: home: Amchitka: boot hill ....
They must be very tired, those ghosts; no flesh sustains them
And the bones rust in the rain.
Reluctant to go into the earth