Len Krisak

Len Krisak is an American poet. He has taught at Brandeis, Northeastern University, and Stonehill College.

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Poetry

Poetry

"Last night, the winds went wild at war, their gusts and gales made chaos swarm, and then . . . they weren’t there anymore."
Politics & Policy

Poetry

LARKINESQUE The trees have shed their leaves at last, Like something over — done and said. How shall their settled piles be read Now that fall is dead and past? Perhaps like sibyl’s words that ...
Politics & Policy

Poetry

IMAGE Between the sunset and the window shade, The maple leaves were quaking in the wind. I saw the shaken shadows that they made As if in fear — as if they were afraid That ...
Politics & Policy

Poetry

36 WEST PITMAN What witches, what magicians, but . . . they needed Sixty years — the slowest sleight of hand On record. Did they fail to understand We were sufficiently distracted on Our own ...
Politics & Policy

Poetry

LEAVES: THREE TANKAS Fall comes. He watches Their dying flames fill the eaves And ground their splotches In slow-browning, flattened sheaves: Loss over which no one grieves. * Their coming down makes The ground a cereal bowl Of brown. ...

Poetry

CRITIC The black-capped skull obliviously alert (My stare had not yet caught its yellow eye),                                        His head jerked left then right. Between each stab: the hooked neb, pricking at              An upturned breast, its puff of ...
Politics & Policy

Poetry

CRITIC The black-capped skull obliviously alert (My stare had not yet caught its yellow eye),                                        His head jerked left then right. Between each stab: the hooked neb, pricking at              An upturned breast, its puff of ...
Politics & Policy

Poetry

SNOW DROPS First useless spears against the humus’s black backdrop, then collapse to heads hung down in puny lampshade petals: collapse without bud-burst. Autochthonous, unsown, their whited time condensed, they bell in clusters. No tongue claps and will not stop. The freak wind blusters. Down ...

Snow Drops

First useless spears against the humus’s black backdrop, then collapse to heads hung down in puny lampshade petals: collapse without bud-burst. Autochthonous, unsown, their whited time condensed, they bell in clusters. No tongue claps and will not stop. The freak wind blusters. Down on ...

Picturesque

Rising ambitiously, they set a goal Of smoking out the red, reluctant sun, Which smolders like some just-embarrassed coal. Whatever looks to start has not begun, But still the clouds’ bombastic undersides — All glowing pearl ...