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Best Famous Charles Simic Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Charles Simic poems. This is a select list of the best famous Charles Simic poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Charles Simic poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Charles Simic poems.

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by Charles Simic |

Talking To Little Birdies

 Not a peep out of you now
After the bedlam early this morning.
Are you begging pardon of me Hidden up there among the leaves, Or are your brains momentarily overtaxed? You savvy a few things I don't: The overlooked sunflower seed worth a holler; The traffic of cats in the yard; Strangers leaving the widow's house, Tieless and wearing crooked grins.
Or have you got wind of the world's news? Some new horror I haven't heard about yet? Which one of you was so bold as to warn me, Our sweet setup is in danger? Kids are playing soldiers down the road, Pointing their rifles and playing dead.
Little birdies, are you sneaking wary looks In the thick foliage as you hear me say this?


by Charles Simic |

Heights Of Folly

 O crows circling over my head and cawing!
I admit to being, at times,
Suddenly, and without the slightest warning,
Exceedingly happy.
On a morning otherwise sunless, Strolling arm in arm Past some gallows-shaped trees With my dear Helen, Who is also a strange bird, With a feeling of being summoned Urgently, but by a most gracious invitation To breakfast on slices of watermelon In the company of naked gods and goddesses On a patch of last night's snow.


by Charles Simic |

Eyes Fastened With Pins

 How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in.
The little Wife always alone Ironing death's laundry.
The beautiful daughters Setting death's supper table.
The neighbors playing Pinochle in the backyard Or just sitting on the steps Drinking beer.
Death, Meanwhile, in a strange Part of town looking for Someone with a bad cough, But the address somehow wrong, Even death can't figure it out Among all the locked doors.
.
.
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper To cover his head, not even A dime to call the one pining away, Undressing slowly, sleepily, And stretching naked On death's side of the bed.


by Charles Simic |

Wherein Obscurely

 On the road with billowing poplars,
In a country flat and desolate
To the far-off gray horizon, wherein obscurely,
A man and a woman went on foot,

Each carrying a small suitcase.
They were tired and had taken off Their shoes and were walking on Their toes, staring straight ahead.
Every time a car passed fast, As they're wont to on such a stretch of Road, empty as the crow flies, How quickly they were gone-- The cars, I mean, and then the drizzle That brought on the early evening, Little by little, and hardly a light Anywhere, and then not even that.


by Charles Simic |

The Partial Explanation

 Seems like a long time
Since the waiter took my order.
Grimy little luncheonette, The snow falling outside.
Seems like it has grown darker Since I last heard the kitchen door Behind my back Since I last noticed Anyone pass on the street.
A glass of ice-water Keeps me company At this table I chose myself Upon entering.
And a longing, Incredible longing To eavesdrop On the conversation Of cooks.


by Charles Simic |

Clouds Gathering

 It seemed the kind of life we wanted.
Wild strawberries and cream in the morning.
Sunlight in every room.
The two of us walking by the sea naked.
Some evenings, however, we found ourselves Unsure of what comes next.
Like tragic actors in a theater on fire, With birds circling over our heads, The dark pines strangely still, Each rock we stepped on bloodied by the sunset.
We were back on our terrace sipping wine.
Why always this hint of an unhappy ending? Clouds of almost human appearance Gathering on the horizon, but the rest lovely With the air so mild and the sea untroubled.
The night suddenly upon us, a starless night.
You lighting a candle, carrying it naked Into our bedroom and blowing it out quickly.
The dark pines and grasses strangely still.


by Charles Simic |

The Supreme Moment

 As an ant is powerless 
Against a raised boot, 
And only has an instant 
To have a bright idea or two.
The black boot so polished, He can see himself Reflected in it, distorted, Perhaps made larger Into a huge monster ant Shaking his arms and legs Threateningly? The boot may be hesitating, Demurring, having misgivings, Gathering cobwebs, Dew? Yes, and apparently no.


by Charles Simic |

Poem Without A Title

 I say to the lead
Why did you let yourself
Be cast into a bullet?
Have you forgotten the alchemists?
Have you given up hope
In turning into gold?

Nobody answers.
Lead.
Bullet.
With names Such as these The sleep is deep and long.


by Charles Simic |

Country Fair

 for Hayden Carruth

If you didn't see the six-legged dog,
It doesn't matter.
We did, and he mostly lay in the corner.
As for the extra legs, One got used to them quickly And thought of other things.
Like, what a cold, dark night To be out at the fair.
Then the keeper threw a stick And the dog went after it On four legs, the other two flapping behind, Which made one girl shriek with laughter.
She was drunk and so was the man Who kept kissing her neck.
The dog got the stick and looked back at us.
And that was the whole show.


by Charles Simic |

Private Eye

 To find clues where there are none,
That's my job now, I said to the
Dictionary on my desk.
The world beyond My window has grown illegible, And so has the clock on the wall.
I may strike a match to orient myself In the meantime, there's the heart Stopping hush as the building Empties, the elevators stop running, The grains of dust stay put.
Hours of quiescent sleuthing Before the Madonna with the mop Shuffles down the long corridor Trying doorknobs, turning mine.
That's just little old me sweating In the customer's chair, I'll say.
Keep your nose out of it.
I'm not closing up till he breaks.