Poetry by Charles Lyman
“With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse….”
— W.H. Auden, “In Memory of W.B. Yeats”
Clear your sorrows to the sun,
Light and water, essential for fruition.
Leave room that your fears may run.
Cut boldly with natural intuition.
Damned, too true, it will surely grow —
Worst intentions untended clog the ground.
Hatred, prejudice, violence mow,
For the deepest taproots are never found.
Plant, prune, water, feed, edit, apprise!
Tie up vines of verses that upward rise;
Dirty your hands with well-inked soil.
Grapes of the
About the Poet
Charley Lyman took a degree in writing, photography and broadcast production at the University of Minnesota. Then he went looking for a story. He lives in Orlando with his fellow poet/soul mate. He teaches 8th grade English. He writes from the overflow of life.