Poetry that I could never recreate2025-08-12What Kind of Manby Kate BaerWhat kind of man weeps at the feetof his wife in pain, holds up the pinkand shrieking thing and feels the throbof time. What kind of man wraps a clotharound his waist and holds the baby tohis chest, walks through the streets swayinglike a drunk in morning. What kind of manfeels the rage of men and only swallows athis daughter’s fists at his chest. What kindof man does not give up his time, his manypleasures , but hands them over without asound. What kind of man bends to holdthem in their suffering, in their questions,in their garbled turns of phrase. What kindof man admits his failures, turns over hisheavy stones, stands at the feet of grief andwanting and does not turn away. What kindof man becomes a father. A lasting place.A steady ship inside a tireless storm.Warning to Childrenby Robert GravesChildren, if you dare to thinkOf the greatness, rareness, muchnessFewness of this precious onlyEndless world in which you sayYou live, you think of things like this:Blocks of slate enclosing dappledRed and green, enclosing tawnyYellow nets, enclosing whiteAnd black acres of dominoes,Where a neat brown paper parcelTempts you to untie the string.In the parcel a small island,On the island a large tree,On the tree a husky fruit.Strip the husk and pare the rind off:In the kernel you will seeBlocks of slate enclosed by dappledRed and green, enclosed by tawnyYellow nets, enclosed by whiteAnd black acres of dominoes,Where the same brown paper parcel -Children, leave the string alone!For who dares undo the parcelFinds himself at once inside it,On the island, in the fruit,Blocks of slate about his head,Finds himself enclosed by dappledGreen and red, enclosed by yellowTawny nets, enclosed by blackAnd white acres of dominoes,With the same brown paper parcelStill untied upon his knee.And, if he then should dare to thinkOf the fewness, muchness, rareness,Greatness of this endless onlyPrecious world in which he sayshe lives - he then unties the string.