Poems that you love

[Lizzie]

The White Room
By Charles Simic

The obvious is difficult
To prove. Many prefer
The hidden. I did, too.
I listened to the trees.

They had a secret
Which they were about to
Make known to me,
And then didn’t.

Summer came. Each tree
On my street had its own
Scheherazade. My nights
Were a part of their wild

Storytelling. We were
Entering dark houses,
More and more dark houses
Hushed and abandoned.

There was someone with eyes closed
On the upper floors.
The thought of it, and the wonder,
Kept me sleepless.

The truth is bald and cold,
Said the woman
Who always wore white.
She didn’t leave her room much.

The sun pointed to one or two
Things that had survived
The long night intact,
The simplest things,

Difficult in their obviousness.
They made no noise.
It was the kind of day
People describe as “perfect.”

Gods disguising themselves
As black hairpins? A hand-mirror?
A comb with a tooth missing?
No! That wasn’t it.

Just things as they are,
Unblinking, lying mute
In that bright light,
And the trees waiting for the night.

Great stuff. Thanks for the share.

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Why Are Your Poems So Dark?

Isn't the moon dark too,  
most of the time?  

And doesn't the white page  
seem unfinished  

without the dark stain  
of alphabets?  

When God demanded light,  
he didn't banish darkness.  

Instead he invented  
ebony and crows  

and that small mole  
on your left cheekbone.  

Or did you mean to ask  
"Why are you sad so often?"  

Ask the moon.  
Ask what it has witnessed.

BY LINDA PASTAN

Loved this one too.