Oread
Whirl up, sea—
Whirl your pointed pines.
Splash your great pines
On our rocks.
Hurl your green over us—
Cover us with your pools of fir.
This poem is in the public domain.
Poems
Find and share the perfect poems.
More by this poet
O wind, rend open the heat, cut apart the heat, rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop through this thick air— fruit cannot fall into heat that presses up and blunts the points of pears and rounds the grapes. Cut the heat— plough through it, turning it on either side of your path.
1982
The light beats upon me.
I am startled—
a split leaf crackles on the paved floor—
I am anguished—defeated.
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods—
my thoughts are spent
as the black seeds.
My thoughts tear me,
I dread their fever.
I am scattered in its whirl.
I am scattered like
the hot shrivelled seeds.
2016
All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.
1982