Len Krisak

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

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 ...

Poetry

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 ...

October

Deep woods Down East, we’re cabined, cribbed, confined, And bedded down. Up through an oculus, The wiry asters glint — and wink, though they are blind. All day, the rifle shots have shaken ...

Poetry

OCTOBER Deep woods Down East, we’re cabined, cribbed, confined, And bedded down. Up through an oculus, The wiry asters glint — and wink, though they are blind. All day, the rifle shots have shaken ...

Poetry

YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED; YOU ARE WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING; YOUR KINGDOM WILL BE DIVIDED AND SURRENDERED TO THE PERSIANS It’s one year later, but the same old subway station Stairs I ...

Poetry

THE BOOKS By now, the books have almost filled their shelves Like some slow love affair reaching its end, When little space is left for richer selves, And all have spent the last cent ...

Poetry

ROOFING Lapping each course in record two-four time, The three-tab shingles overran the roof Above, as hammer blows rained down hard rhyme To render what was overhead sure proof Against the elements. Three workers struck, Their ...

Poetry

FOYER What are the houses of the old?                      Last vestibules we enter,           Small vastnesses. They smell of mold,                      Of camphor, and of must,           And of necessity, their center                                 Cannot hold.                      Moth-eaten are their rooms                      Where merely breathing dooms           Us ...