Herring Gulls
A POEM
They quarrel in low tide mud
Over scraps of rotten food;
They rest on fishhouse roofs.
Retreating from feud.
They batter the air in flight,
Shrill-screaming at swifter thieves,
Swooping to carry off
What another leaves.
They circle on motionless wings,
Then ride a wind’s long rise,
Disdaining the distant dunes
And greedy cries.
Sea hunters again, they join
The endless offal chase —
Rapacious, yet seekers of sky
On wings of grace.
You May Also Enjoy
William Carlos Williams: A Doctor’s Faith, a Poet’s Faith
Williams knew how bored, self-centered, and self-indulgent the rich can be, and how desperately confused, vulnerable, and self-lacerating the poor often are.
Epithalamion
As puny astronauts set out,
Sheathed in their metal skin,
Exploring vastnesses without,
So do…