Poetry of Tom Greggs
  • Poems 1
    • Fair For Any Bird
    • Untitled II
    • Old Photo / Black Luger
    • Stirrer of Seas
    • On The Stair
    • Red Delicious
    • The Occasional Poem
    • Emerging
    • Proper Use of the Scythe
    • Anemone
    • Hole in the Wall
    • Muddy Waters
    • Gauguin in Ketchikan
    • Red Tailed Hawk
    • Poet, Adjusted
    • April
  • Poems 2
    • Jack Straws
    • A Titanic
    • Unclothing
    • Counting Cop Cars
    • Cargo Cult
    • Island Bird
    • River Stones
    • Boy in Victory
    • The Difference Between Burying and Planting
    • Vietnam Memorial In Rain
    • How Relationships End
    • Clearing of the Land
    • Periwinkle
    • Surge Channel
    • An Artist Gives Birth
    • White Church in a Deep Field
  • Short Poems
    • Beach Cabin
    • Untitled
    • Short Poem 1
    • Drive Time Jazz
    • Road to Walla Walla
    • These Things
    • Short Poem 2
    • Short Poem 3
    • The Undulate
    • Short Poem 4
    • Living Twice
    • You-Me
  • Sock Drawer
    • Washaway Beach
    • A Splendid Christmas Corpse
    • Who Laid the Bone
    • Everybody's Packin'
    • She's the Next Best Thing
  • Contact Me


                                                         Red Tailed Hawk


                                                             My father was a red-tailed hawk

                                                 flying high above my youth

                                                 A fine and feral form was he

                                                 with wings so wide and long enough

                                                 to suit my myths and distance too

                                                 to better serve my sullen, silent ways

                                                 Though I see now 

                                                 among my multiplying years 

                                                 I'd built that sky and placed him there

                                                 no better cage a son could find

                                                 and with him dead ten years and more

                                                 the cage passed on to sons of mine

                                                 I find in dreams he's come to ground

                                                 and in the early hours will call

                                                 a sign to me that he is near

                                                 and watching now as I watch 

                                                 over my own




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