Tag: poem
member name: Charles William Hoffman
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March 09, 2008 08:07 PM EDT --
Sandmen
we're powdery people
that wake up at night
sit on our ankles
and crumble in fright
invisible sisters
glances give chase
droplets of destiny
in watery fates
smooth through . . .
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April 16, 2008 06:35 PM EDT --
Beside a river green and,
An old dusty path,
Lies the end of all things known.
Still stone and earth . . .
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April 01, 2008 07:20 PM EDT --
The row of silence
Strikes the aisles
The harmless violence
Of empty smiles
Of furrowed brows
Of pushing plows
Of stony eyes
Of servant skies
Their life is one of labor
The light seems . . .
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January 28, 2008 08:59 PM EST --
It began as a comment but now that I've written this whole poem and a follow-up I feel inclined to make it its own article
Buried beneath myself
In the coffin of my mind
Lives a second self . . .
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January 25, 2008 01:58 AM EST --
Through blinking eyes we may be missed,
to wither and die is all we do.
From womb to tomb, we're quickly thrown;
our cradles are our caskets.
Those that sleep beneath our feet,
Are nascent and . . .
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March 16, 2008 04:44 PM EDT --
The Sorrows of a Lingering Sailor
And the failed fisherman walks along the docks by night
A cough in his mouth and a flameless cigarette in his hand
He doesn't need another drag to bring . . .
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January 28, 2008 09:05 PM EST --
This is the follow-up to a poem I wrote called modern monster.
A Lingering Voice
A nephew's knowledge burns through my mind, silencing surplus voices.
After carnage, after death, still . . .
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January 30, 2008 07:51 PM EST --
I was at the MOMA today; there I saw Claude Monet's "Reflections of Clouds on the Water-lily Pond" and wrote this poem sitting on the bench, looking at the enchanting piece:
To captivate . . .
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January 30, 2008 09:26 PM EST --
While at the MOMA I wrote this poem in response to Gustav Klimt's "The Park"
You know nothing of eyes
You square and bushy tree.
You exist and perplex
You insensative conundrum . . .
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June 02, 2008 02:30 AM EDT --
Oh, stop that, Carl. Stop that now.
You toil while we drink our fill.
Those worries in the end do kill.
Be seated and keep clean your troubled brow.
Standing is for . . .
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