One of my favorite poets, Billy Collins, from his book "Picnic, Lightning," available in paperback in your local store. Support your favorite poets. Buy one of their books today.
Looking West
Just beyond the flower garden at the end of the lawn
the curvature of the earth begins,
sloping down from there
over the length of the country
and the smooth surface of the Pacific
before it continues across the convex rice fields of Asia
and, rising, inclines over europe
and the bulging, boat-dotted waters of the
Atlantic,
finally reaching the other side of the house
where it comes up behind a yellow grove of forsythia
near a dilapidated picnic table,
then passes unerringly under the spot
where I am standing, hands in my pockets,
feet planted firmly on the ground.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
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3 comments:
Billy Collins never disappoints. Oh so brainy wrapped in simple he is!
He always baits then zings, lures then thwacks, like a zen monk who wandered around behind a row of meditating monks thwacking on the head with a spoon in order to remind them to "pay closer attention."
This poem ranges on all scales and ends gracefully at the beginning and then some. He effortlessly spans the globe. And accessible.Thanks
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