Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month's newspapers. Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. Take from the
Appointed poet laureate of the state of Florida on June 15, 2015, Peter Meinke is the author of over twenty books of poetry. He has received many awards, including a Fulbright Fellowship, two National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships, and three prizes from the Poetry Society of America. He worked at Eckerd College until 1993, when he retired. During his time at the college, he founded and directed its Writing Workshop.
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She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, fluttering Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry, That was not ours although we understood, Inhuman, of the veritable ocean. The sea was not a mask. No more
Barque of phosphor On the palmy beach, Move outward into heaven, Into the alabasters And night blues. Foam and cloud are one. Sultry moon-monsters Are dissolving. Fill your black hull With white moonlight. There will never be an end To this droning of the surf.