The body, what is it, Father, but a sign To love the force that grows us, to give back What in Thy palm is senselessness and mud?
Karl ShapiroThe modern essay has regained a good deal of its literary status in our time, much to the credit of Joseph Epstein.
Karl ShapiroBut with exquisite breathing you smile, with satisfaction of love, And I touch you again as you tick in the silence and settle in sleep.
Karl ShapiroPoetry is innocent, not wise. It does not learn from experience, because each poetic experience is unique.
Karl ShapiroLaughter and grief join hands. Always the heart Clumps in the breast with heavy stride; The face grows lined and wrinkled like a chart, The eyes bloodshot with tears and tide. Let the wind blow, for many a man shall die.
Karl Shapiro