Paul Muldoon Poems (22 Poems)
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Milkweed and Monarch (Paul Muldoon Poems)
The rain comes flapping through the yardlike a tablecloth that she hand-embroidered.My mother has left it on the line.It is sodden with rain.The mushroom shed is windowless, wide,its high-stacked wooden trayshosed down with formaldehyde.And my father has opened the gates … Continue reading
Gathering Mushrooms (Paul Muldoon Poems)
As he knelt by the grave of his mother and fatherthe taste of dill, or tarragon-he could barely tell one from the other- filled his mouth. It seemed as if he might smother.Why should he be strickenwith grief, not for … Continue reading
Extraordinary Rendition (Paul Muldoon Poems)
I. I gave you back my claim on the mining townand the rich vein we once worked,the tumble downfrom a sluice box that irked you so much, the narrow gaugethat opened up to one and allwhen it ran out at … Continue reading
A Dent (Paul Muldoon Poems)
In memory of Michael Allen The height of one stall at odds with the next in your grandfather’s byrewhere cattle allowed themselves to speak only at Yulegave but little sense of why you taught us to admirethe capacity of a … Continue reading
Hedgehog (Paul Muldoon Poems)
The snail moves like aHovercraft, held up by aRubber cushion of itself,Sharing its secret With the hedgehog. The hedgehogShares its secret with no one.We say, Hedgehog, come outOf yourself and we will love you. We mean no harm. We wantOnly … Continue reading
The Avenue (Paul Muldoon Poems)
Now that we’ve come to the end I’ve been trying to piece it together, Not that distance makes anything clearer. It began in the half-light While we walked through the dawn chorus After a party that lasted all night, With … Continue reading
The Birth (Paul Muldoon Poems)
Seven o’clock. The seventh day of the seventh month of the year. No sooner have I got myself up in lime-green scrubs, a sterile cap and mask, and taken my place at the head of the table than the windlass-woman … Continue reading
Tell (Paul Muldoon Poems)
He opens the scullery door, and a sudden rush of wind, as raw as raw, brushes past him as he himself will brush past the stacks of straw that stood in earlier for Crow or Comanche tepees hung with scalps … Continue reading
The Frog (Paul Muldoon Poems)
Comes to mind as another small upheaval amongst the rubble. His eye matches exactly the bubble in my spirit-level. I set aside hammer and chisel and take him on the trowel. The entire population of Ireland springs from a pair … Continue reading
The Sightseers (Paul Muldoon Poems)
My father and mother, my brother and sister and I, with uncle Pat, our dour best-loved uncle, had set out that Sunday afternoon in July in his broken-down Ford not to visit some graveyard-one died of shingles, one of fever, … Continue reading
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