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Poetry
John L. Moorman (1939 -1984)
TEARS
I have had trouble with tears today;
tears that swell and burn,
tears that seep and steam
tears that drop
upon the
secret
center
of my wakefulness,
tears
that want to
water all our lives,
Tears that hurt. Tears.
29 July 77
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SOUL
Some sensitive soul
Has sought me out
And found me
In my tears.
Some sorrowing soul
Was passing through
And saw into
My tears.
Some secret soul
Has seen my soul
And felt
The longing
There,
And given back
The love
I lack,
I felt him
say,
"I care".
16 May 78
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ADMIRE
Now I will lean forward
And admire my just-washed, un-combed
Hair tangled in the bright September sun.
Never (without you) did I admire
And really like
Anything about me.
I cry (a little) in joy
And admiration
And accept me
Like you do.
I’m good.
15 Sept 80
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GOLDENROD
(It's time to cut tobacco in Kentucky)
The budding of autumn...
Goldenrod yellowing off its green
Like willows in early spring--
(who get their green from yellow)
Like new life; but goldenrod
Will witness the reverse,
And preside over the passing
Of all our summer green.
21 Aug 80
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WANT
Sister sitting
On a sunlit Saturday
Morning corner
Asks people passing
For a quarter
Like she asked me
Yesterday.
"Tis more blessed
to give than to receive,"--
But isn't it
More holy still
To ask,
Risk denial
Beg and want?
The giver
Must be moved
By the higher
Good of a
Request,
Plea,
Want.
21 June 75
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SUN-FALL
Clear Monday morning--
softened sunlight
of the Fall filling the window
of our room--
Watching the delicate, twisting
shadows of cigarette smoke
among the dancing shadows
of withering tree leaves
cast upon this book
by Columbus Day sun;
I woke to find
you next to me
and the early sun (8:30)
already almost to the corner
of the room with its square of light
--not on the summer center of the wall
9 October 78
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FOG
Fog-filled Saturday morning--
Standing at the door
not wanting to go in--
The wet, gray air
Among the wet, black trees of March
is fondling their figures.
Along the walk the winter waste
of pens and pins and broken glass
of countless losses and beer bottles
is regurgitated by the melting snow.
March morning in the mist
March morning I was kissed
by cold, wet lips of fog.
It feels so good to get it out
and let the fog-tongue in.
11 Mar 78
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BLOOMING
I forgot to tell you...
The pear trees,
(Where you looked like a furtive rabbit),
Are blooming: again.
10 May 81
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