William Coyne

If someone calls you a nobody,
don't let it break your spirit,
if you're there in the forest,
and a tall tree falls
...

I dreamed I threw away a little brown box,
that lingered in the corner of a place
I rented in the southern end of the Bronx,
for I found other functions for that space.
...

The dark shall come on its own.
So please, only dim the light
a bit, that I may yet see
the flowers' blooms in vases
...

Of every fresh and regal petal,
none dared to rest within her rosy hand,
for fear that she, the fairest in the land,
shame their glory and their loveliness.
...

Grateful that we found some precious time,
to place our jangled words from line to line,
and raise some part of our inner feelings
to nurse the bruises of daily dealings,
...

She works her bony arms and gnarled hands,
to crawl along a grassy, brown field,
to view a paint stripped, old and gray farm house,
under ashen sky, her frailty unconcealed.
...

'Twas day three after the solemn Christian
holiday, when gifts given with happy
hearts and good will are found under green trees,
gaily decorated with candles, candies,
...

No Lear, mad from ungrateful children's
serpentine hisses,
am I, sad from my long uncaring kin's
welcoming kisses.
...

Appearing from my slumber's vapors,
Ezra's lines on toilet papers,
held by soiled fingers reaching,
extending Dionysian teaching.
...

Rivers I traveled for many a year,
then wide and deep, now shallow I fear,
more narrow than I remember,
trickled to creeks of early December.
...

Out of great misery may rise a small sweet song,
a peach fuzzed golden petal unbruised by a storm,
torn from the stem, now distant from its fragrant source,
withering away its final days,
...

I have walked over these roads;
I have thought of them living.
Ezra Pound - PROVINCIA DESERTA
...

We share with growing things struggles for life;

saplings, the overhanging canopy,
we, overbearing principality,
...

Easily small fingers in mother's hand
loosen when appearing on the stand,
in market places colorful and bright,
toys designed to draw a child's naive sight.
...

My insignificance among the stars,
so vast and many that rule the night skies,
mine to recognize, often goes unfelt
when the rising moon smiles on my face,
...

The children of Flint have been poisoned,
brain damaged, facing undeserved death,
to line the pockets of fortunate men,
who decided without a charitable breath
...

It seems death takes forever to come.
I want it to come,
but it will not budge
from it's dark and scary, shadowy place.
...

My mother's crocheted hearts of flimsy yarn,
knitted into white collars for costumes
worn by Irish dancers, starched rigidly,
and ironed flat, pinned to blouses colored
...

This profane hail, thrust from earthly heavens,
that last year crushed the crop from the cursed ground,
that sent the family farmer from work
to linger long, idly in bread lines,
...

If each our fathom of another's love
were water by Divine Grace, 'twould not brim
so much as the tiniest China teacup.
The daily drinking throughout our lives
...