Robinson Jeffers: Hurt Hawk
I’d sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk; but the great redtail
Had nothing left but unable misery
From the bones too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved.
Robinson Jeffers: The Place for No Story
A herd of cows and the bull
Far distant, hardly apparent up the dark slope;
And the gray air haunted with hawks
Robinson Jeffers: Love the Wild Swan
I hate my verses, every line, every word.
Oh pale and brittle pencils ever to try
One grass-blade’s curve, or the throat of one bird
That clings to twig, ruffled against white sky.
Chard deNiord: The Hawk
I was gazing out this morning from my perch in Bedford,
Virginia when I heard the screech of a red-
tailed hawk in the deep, cerulean sky
above a Blue Ridge mountain in which the other-
wise perfect silence was musical
Robinson Jeffers: The Treasure
That silence is the thing, this noise a found word for it;
interjection, a jump of the breath at that silence
Robinson Jeffers: Shine, Perishing Republic
…a mortal splendor;
meteors are not needed less than mountains;
shine, perishing republic.
Robinson Jeffers: Wonder and Joy
The things that one grows tired of—O, be sure They are only foolish artificial things! Can a bird ever tire of having wings? And I, so long as life and … Continue reading
