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Michael Shorb's work reflects an
abiding interest in myth, history, and
the lyrical form, as well as a satirical
focus on present day trends and events.
His poems have appeared in over 150
magazines and anthologies, including
The Nation, The Sun, Michigan
Quarterly Review, Kansas Quarterly,
Rain City Review, Shakespeare
Newsletter, Commonweal, Religious
Humanism, Shoofly, Beatitude,
European Judaism, THE DOLPHIN'S
ARC (anthology), BELL RINGING IN
AN EMPTY SKY (anthology), TO BE A
MAN (anthology) and NAMES IN A
JAR: 100 AMERICAN POETS
(anthology).
abiding interest in myth, history, and
the lyrical form, as well as a satirical
focus on present day trends and events.
His poems have appeared in over 150
magazines and anthologies, including
The Nation, The Sun, Michigan
Quarterly Review, Kansas Quarterly,
Rain City Review, Shakespeare
Newsletter, Commonweal, Religious
Humanism, Shoofly, Beatitude,
European Judaism, THE DOLPHIN'S
ARC (anthology), BELL RINGING IN
AN EMPTY SKY (anthology), TO BE A
MAN (anthology) and NAMES IN A
JAR: 100 AMERICAN POETS
(anthology).
Michael Shorb
IN SLEEP¹S OASIS
(for Judith)
In sleep¹s oasis
I turn toward your
arms in search of
moorings toward your
warmth and light
drifting like a shard
of green glass from a
cathedral window
forgetting what shape
I once was?
Tree or unburned bush or
saint¹s eyes focused
or walking seas
I seek a respite
where your welcome¹s
my only meaning,
my only treasure.
-Michael Shorb
Michael Shorb
320A 3rd Ave.
San Francisco, CA 94118
shorb2@sbcglobal.net
Twenty-Five Pound Lobsters
Accounts blossomed from
The bounty of an earth reborn
Whales at play
In breaker lines
off Martha's Vineyard
Coastal islands
dense with wild grapes
Deer and beaver
Graceful in shades of forest distance.
My ancestors were amazed
At immense fields of
Goldenrod
delicate heather
Speckled wild rice
Bending
in river shade
Great oak and black walnut trees
Alive to the bursting point
With unnamed species of birds.
They were stunned by the colors
Of afternoon
the size of rabbits and berries
The biblical profusion
of blue-point oysters
Fist-shaped welkes
in cold green harbors.
One boat's crew in Plymouth Bay
Reported
taking over fifty
Lobsters an hour
from a four-foot sea
Using rusted brass hooks
Strapped
on splintered oars.
Travelers among dark-
Skinned tribes of tangled and rivered
Northern regions reaffirmed
Rumors of lobsters
in deep rock pools
Thick as a man's leg
Growing to twenty-five pounds
You could lower
a noose down drawing
Spiny red giants up
Chop claws off
boil in imported iron pots.
This land was richer
Than counting or telling, beyond
The equations of music or powers of speech.
It would shower us with riches.
Veins in mountains
West swollen with coal and gold
Prairies waiting to be
loomed with wheat
Scrub plains rumbling
to disgorge their oil.
Animals would be easy targets
For decades to come
Tribes of men
shot or infected
Shipped west
in diminishing numbers.
This land a harpooned
God of beauty
Showering light
On huddled strangers
Ambivalent at their fires; a green event horizon
Sounding in migratory waves
Against distant skies
Pulsing in novas
Of fire-coated leaves.
(for Judith)
In sleep¹s oasis
I turn toward your
arms in search of
moorings toward your
warmth and light
drifting like a shard
of green glass from a
cathedral window
forgetting what shape
I once was?
Tree or unburned bush or
saint¹s eyes focused
or walking seas
I seek a respite
where your welcome¹s
my only meaning,
my only treasure.
-Michael Shorb
Michael Shorb
320A 3rd Ave.
San Francisco, CA 94118
shorb2@sbcglobal.net
Twenty-Five Pound Lobsters
Accounts blossomed from
The bounty of an earth reborn
Whales at play
In breaker lines
off Martha's Vineyard
Coastal islands
dense with wild grapes
Deer and beaver
Graceful in shades of forest distance.
My ancestors were amazed
At immense fields of
Goldenrod
delicate heather
Speckled wild rice
Bending
in river shade
Great oak and black walnut trees
Alive to the bursting point
With unnamed species of birds.
They were stunned by the colors
Of afternoon
the size of rabbits and berries
The biblical profusion
of blue-point oysters
Fist-shaped welkes
in cold green harbors.
One boat's crew in Plymouth Bay
Reported
taking over fifty
Lobsters an hour
from a four-foot sea
Using rusted brass hooks
Strapped
on splintered oars.
Travelers among dark-
Skinned tribes of tangled and rivered
Northern regions reaffirmed
Rumors of lobsters
in deep rock pools
Thick as a man's leg
Growing to twenty-five pounds
You could lower
a noose down drawing
Spiny red giants up
Chop claws off
boil in imported iron pots.
This land was richer
Than counting or telling, beyond
The equations of music or powers of speech.
It would shower us with riches.
Veins in mountains
West swollen with coal and gold
Prairies waiting to be
loomed with wheat
Scrub plains rumbling
to disgorge their oil.
Animals would be easy targets
For decades to come
Tribes of men
shot or infected
Shipped west
in diminishing numbers.
This land a harpooned
God of beauty
Showering light
On huddled strangers
Ambivalent at their fires; a green event horizon
Sounding in migratory waves
Against distant skies
Pulsing in novas
Of fire-coated leaves.
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