Category Archives: Billy Collins

Poem – The Iron Bridge

I am standing on a disused iron bridge that was erected in 1902, according to the iron plaque bolted into a beam, the year my mother turned one. Imagine–a mother in her infancy, and she was a Canadian infant at … Continue reading

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Poem – The Names

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night. A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze, And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows, I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened, Then Baxter … Continue reading

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Poem – Night Golf

I remember the night I discovered, lying in bed in the dark, that a few imagined holes of golf worked much better than a thousand sheep, that the local links, not the cloudy pasture with its easy fence, was the … Continue reading

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Poem – Silence

There is the sudden silence of the crowd above a player not moving on the field, and the silence of the orchid. The silence of the falling vase before it strikes the floor, the silence of the belt when it … Continue reading

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Shoveling Snow With Buddha – Billy Collins

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok you would never see him doing such a thing,  tossing the dry snow over a mountain  of his bare, round shoulder,  his hair tied in a knot,  a model … Continue reading

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Snow Day – Billy Collins

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,  its white flag waving over everything,  the landscape vanished,  not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,  and beyond these windows  the government buildings smothered,  schools and libraries buried, the post … Continue reading

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Some Days – Billy Collins

Some days I put the people in their places at the table,  bend their legs at the knees,  if they come with that feature,  and fix them into the tiny wooden chairs.  All afternoon they face one another,  the man … Continue reading

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