Nov 21, 2016 | Chiastic, Grief, Gus Stevens, Regret, Winter
The woman at the counter said she could not tell me where the poet Roethke drowned. The Bloedel Reserve wanted to put on a happier face, a garden in the wood and clifftop eyes above the grey-blue Sound. The pool where they discovered him was gone; the dying place torn...
Nov 21, 2016 | Chiastic, Gus Stevens, Winter
I need to find a place to dry my shoes and a fresh towel after a hot shower, then clean sheets tucked tight beneath the corners of the bed. I’ve been too long in the wind, too long among the tree limbs all thinned of leaves and life. While winter’s bare...
Dec 21, 2015 | Advent, Chiastic, Gus Stevens, Seasons, Winter
Long lay the world in sin and error pining Till he appeared and the soul felt it’s worth. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoicing For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn. -John Sullivan Dwight All the nations grope about in the dark to find...
Dec 6, 2015 | Chiastic, Gus Stevens, Irregular Rhyme, Sinner's Psalms vol. 1
Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep; For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep. —Algernon Charles Swinburne, Hymn to Prosperine If asked to choose: eternal life or sleep, he’s not sure how...
