Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Alden Nowlan Poems

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

Search and read the best famous Alden Nowlan poems, articles about Alden Nowlan poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Alden Nowlan poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:
Written by Alden Nowlan | Create an image from this poem

A Mysterious Naked Man

 A mysterious naked man has been reported
on Cranston Avenue.
The police are performing the usual ceremonies with coloured lights and sirens.
Almost everyone is outdoors and strangers are conversing excitedly as they do during disasters when their involvement is peripheral.
'What did he look like? ' the lieutenant is asking.
'I don't know, ' says the witness.
'He was naked.
' There is talk of dogs-this is no ordinary case of indecent exposure, the man has been seen a dozen times since the milkman spotted him and now the sky is turning purple and voices carry a long way and the children have gone a little crazy as they often do at dusk and cars are arriving from other sections of the city.
And the mysterious naked man is kneeling behind a garbage can or lying on his belly in somebody's garden or maybe even hiding in the branches of a tree, where the wind from the harbour whips at his naked body, and by now he's probably done whatever it was he wanted to do and wishes he could go to sleep or die or take to the air like Superman.

Written by Alden Nowlan | Create an image from this poem

The Masks of Love

 I come in from a walk
With you
And they ask me
If it is raining.
I didn’t notice But I’ll have to give them The right answer Or they’ll think I’m crazy.
Written by Alden Nowlan | Create an image from this poem

The Bull Moose

 Down from the purple mist of trees on the mountain, 
lurching through forests of white spruce and cedar, 
stumbling through tamarack swamps,
came the bull moose
to be stopped at last by a pole-fenced pasture.
Too tired to turn or, perhaps, aware there was no place left to go, he stood with the cattle.
They, scenting the musk of death, seeing his great head like the ritual mask of a blood god, moved to the other end of the field, and waited.
The neighbours heard of it, and by afternoon cars lined the road.
The children teased him with alder switches and he gazed at them like an old, tolerant collie.
The woman asked if he could have escaped from a Fair.
The oldest man in the parish remembered seeing a gelded moose yoked with an ox for plowing.
The young men snickered and tried to pour beer down his throat, while their girl friends took their pictures.
And the bull moose let them stroke his tick-ravaged flanks, let them pry open his jaws with bottles, let a giggling girl plant a little purple cap of thistles on his head.
When the wardens came, everyone agreed it was a shame to shoot anything so shaggy and cuddlesome.
He looked like the kind of pet women put to bed with their sons.
So they held their fire.
But just as the sun dropped in the river the bull moose gathered his strength like a scaffolded king, straightened and lifted his horns so that even the wardens backed away as they raised their rifles.
When he roared, people ran to their cars.
All the young men leaned on their automobile horns as he toppled.
Written by Alden Nowlan | Create an image from this poem

A Certain Kind of Holy Men

 Not every wino is a Holy Man.
Oh, but some of them are.
I love those who've learned to sit comfortably for long periods with their hams pressed against their calves, outdoors, with a wall for a back-rest, contentedly saying nothing.
These move about only when necessary, on foot, and almost always in pairs.
I think of them as oblates.
Christ's blood is in their veins or they thirst for it.
They have looked into the eyes of God, unprotected by smoked glass.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things