Charles Simic Short Poems
Famous Short Charles Simic Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Charles Simic. A collection of the all-time best Charles Simic short poems
by
Charles Simic
Executioner happy to explain
How his wristwatch works
As he shadows me on the street.
I call him that because he is grim and officious
And wears black.
The clock on the church tower
Had stopped at five to eleven.
The morning newspapers had no date.
The gray building on the corner
Could've been a state pen,
And then he showed up with his watch,
Whose Gothic numerals
And the absence of hands
He wanted me to understand
Right then and there.
by
Charles Simic
Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.
by
Charles Simic
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
One shows me how to lie down in a field of clover.
Another how to slip my hand under her Sunday skirt.
Another how to kiss with a mouth full of blackberries.
Another how to catch fireflies in jar after dark.
Here is a stable with a single black mare
And the proof of God's existence riding in a red nightgown.
Devil's child--or whatever she was?
Having the nerve to ask me to go get her a whip.
by
Charles Simic
A world's disappearing.
Little street,
You were too narrow,
Too much in the shade already.
You had only one dog,
One lone child.
You hid your biggest mirror,
Your undressed lovers.
Someone carted them off
In an open truck.
They were still naked, travelling
On their sofa
Over a darkening plain,
Some unknown Kansas or Nebraska
With a storm brewing.
The woman opening a red umbrella
In the truck. The boy
And the dog running after them,
As if after a rooster
With its head chopped off.
by
Charles Simic
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
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
1. The Poet
Someone awake when others are sleeping,
Asleep when others are awake.
An illiterate who signs everything with an X.
A man about to be hanged cracking a joke.
2. The Poem
It is a piece of meat
Carried by a burglar
To distract a watchdog.
by
Charles Simic
Dismembered angel
In whose heart the earth is still on fire,
The moon still has not been split-off;
Here is the message
Your long night announces:
Everything my eye encompasses this instant:
This fire, the cupped-hand, this window
With trees and miles of snow beyond it,
Even this thought, this poem,
Will be compressed
Into a lump of your sleep
For some other awakening.
by
Charles Simic
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.