The Most Beautiful Of Things

Poem By Robert Rorabeck

Baseballs of pledges of allegiances:
I am getting older over these parks—grey geese who
Land in the knots of arboreal witches
As the boys sleep forever upon their red diamonds:
The souls are lost all around here—
Their bodies having grown up and left all of high school:
Only the teachers remain, bloated,
Amphibian—they cannot even reach the lowest orbs
Of the orchard—the lowest cones of the poniard:
And they stutter and struggle and go into and out
Of museums with creaky doors in which
Mermaids have been fused together from spider monkeys
And blue gills: and for those of us who cannot read,
They are the most beautiful of things, but for the rest of
Us—we know exactly who they are.

Comments about The Most Beautiful Of Things

There is no comment submitted by members.

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of RORABECK

A Flower In The Rain

I want to fall on you like rain
upon a wildflower
Opening new reason from you
Scaring all the old bees away from

Alice And The Spooks

Little girls in little blonde curls
In reddish frilly messes
Eat their lunch alone,
Served by brunette waitresses

A Single Kiss

Well, it is raining, and the raindrops make
Furtive areolas in the puddles of muddy bellies,
And their mists are like nebulous shrouds,
And unfertilized thoughts of maidens dreaming of

According To Death

With others old and gray,
Or not so old at all—Maybe they will
Mostly be fair haired and young,
If it should be a tragedy. Who knows?


When you are on the highway
going down the lines like
words of the poem pull over
for the ambulance her red light

Dorothy In The New America

When Dorothy got to Oz,
She crawled out her window and said,
“Is this still America? ”
Because she felt so strange,