Best Famous David Wagoner Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous David Wagoner poems. This is a select list of the best famous David Wagoner poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous David Wagoner poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of David Wagoner poems.
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Best Member Poems
David Wagoner | |
He would leave early and walk slowly
As if balancing books
On the way to school, already expecting
To be tardy once again and heavy
With numbers, the unfashionably rounded
Toes of his shoes invisible beyond
The slope of his corporation.
He would pause
At his favorite fundamentally sound
Park bench, which had been the birthplace
Of paeans and ruminations on other mornings,
And would turn his back to it, having gauged the distance
Between his knees and the edge of the hardwood
Almost invariably unoccupied
At this enlightened hour by the bums of nighttime
(For whom the owlish eye of the moon
Had been closed by daylight), and would give himself wholly over
Backwards and trustingly downwards
And be well seated there.
He would remove
From his sinister jacket pocket a postcard
And touch it and retouch it with the point
Of the fountain he produced at his fingertips
And fill it with his never-before-uttered
Runes and obbligatos and pellucidly cryptic
Duets from private pageants, from broken ends
Of fandangos with the amoeba chaos chaos
Couchant and rampant.
Then he would rise
With an effort as heartfelt as a decision
To get out of bed on Sunday and carefully
Relocate his center of gravity
Above and beyond an imaginary axis
Between his feet and carry the good news
Along the path and the sidewalk, well on his way
To readjusting the business of the earth.
David Wagoner | |
They don't want to be your hedge,
Your barrier, your living wall, the no-go
Go-between between your property
And the prying of dogs and strangers.
Want to settle any of your old squabbles
Inside or out of bounds.
Their new growth
In three-foot shoots goes thrusting straight
Up in the air each April or goes off
Half-cocked sideways to reconnoiter
Wilder dimensions: the very idea
Of squareness, of staying level seems
Alien to them, and they aren't in the least
Discouraged by being suddenly lopped off
Year after year by clippers or the stuttering
Electric teeth of trimmers hedging their bets
To keep them all in line, all roughly
They don't even
Want to be good-neighborly bushes
(Though under the outer stems and leaves
The thick, thick-headed, soot-blackened
Elderly branches have been dodging
And weaving through so many disastrous springs,
So many whacked-out, contra-
Dictory changes of direction, they've locked
Themselves together for good).
Original planting, left to itself, would be
No fence, no partition, no crook-jointed
Entanglement, but a tree by now outspread
With all of itself turned upward at every
Inconvenient angle you can imagine,
And look, on the ground, the fallen leaves,
Brown, leathery, as thick as tongues, remain
Almost what they were, tougher than ever,
Slow to molder, to give in, dead slow to feed
The earth with themselves, there at the feet
Of their fathers in the evergreen shade
Of their replacements.
Long ago would sometimes weave fresh clippings
Into crowns and place them squarely on the heads
Of their most peculiar poets.