I wouldn’t write at
all if it weren’t for myriad writers before me whose works showed me what was
possible. The poems of this series are small offerings of respect, of thanks,
to those muses. – Brian Beatty
Frank Stanford
The crook of the moon
silhouettes the owl
in the tree though not
the snake curled below.
The lukewarm tea
he sips at the barn door
tastes mysteriously
like homemade whiskey.
He chokes down the night
then coughs up God.
– Brian Beatty
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Brian's most recent collections of poetry are Dust and Stars: Miniatures and Brazil, Indiana. Don't miss Brian's columns on the great poets: insert your email address in the "Follow By Email" box to the right of this article and you'll be notified every time a new article appears.
Stanford's outsiderness and prolific output of poems have inspired me since I first discovered his work. To me he represents the terrific possibility of a life in poetry as well as a tragic loss.
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