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Poems for All Occasions

A Poetry for Your Lover, Kids and Friendship
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Skunk Hour

Nautilus Island’s hermit

Heiress still lives through winter in her Spartan cottage; her sheep still graze above the sea.

Her son’s a bishop. Her farmer

Is first selectman in our village;

She’s in her dotage.

Thirsting for

The hierarchic privacy

Of Queen Victoria’s century, she buys up all

Poems for All OccasionsThe eyesores facing her shore, and lets them fall.

The season’s ill —

We’ve lost our summer millionaire,

Who seemed to leap from an L. L. Bean catalogue. His nine-knot yawl

Was auctioned off to lobstermen.

A red fox stain covers Blue Hill.

And now our fairy

Decorator brightens his shop for fall; his fishnet’s filled with orange cork, orange, his cobbler’s bench and awl; there is no money in his work,

He’d rather marry.

One dark night,

My Tudor Ford climbed the hill’s skull;

I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down, they lay together, hull to hull,

Where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . . My mind’s not right.

A car radio bleats,

“Love, 0 careless Love. . . .” I hear my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell, as if my hand were at its throat.

I myself am hell;

Nobody’s here—

Only skunks, that search

In the moonlight for a bite to eat.

They march on their soles up Main Street: white stripes, moonstruck eyes’ red fire under the chalk-dry and spar spire

Of the Trinitarian Church.

I stand on top

Of our back steps and breathe the rich air

A mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the garbage pail.

She jabs her wedge-head in a cup

Of sour cream, drops her ostrich tail,

And will not scare.

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Skunk Hour

2 comments to “Skunk Hour”

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Haiku Poem, September 12th, 2008 at 2:08 pm:

  • Still, some of the poems help to remind us of the Cummings most important traits, traits that definitely set him apart from contemporaries like T.S. … Haiku Poem

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