Poems by Walter Heineman
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Home
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| the other side of the religious canvas |
| the other side |
| the outcome |
| the park sparrows scatter |
| the peculiarity |
| the perpetual nature of dilemmas |
| the pillars of the symposium |
| the plan |
| the playgrounds of the vain |
| the playing field |
| the plot |
| the possibility |
| the preparation |
| the principles |
| the prison |
| the process |
| the proposal |
| the purist |
| the qualities of leadership |
| the question of evil |
| the reading |
| the real odyssey |
| the rebuilt hotel always changes its name |
| the reentry |
| the reference point |
| the reluctance to leave the house |
| the renunciation |
| the reputation |
| the requirement |
| the right room |
| the ruling classes |
| the rural hamlet |
| the rutting season |
| the scales of justice shedding |
| the science of jugglers |
| the science of no imagination |
| the sea of morality |
| the sense of presence |
| the serving of flesh |
| the settlement |
| the sighting |
| the small walk |
| the solution |
| the song |
| the sound of a dead branch |
| the soundless boat |
| the source |
| the spiritual implication is not lost on me |
| the spiritual journey |
| the spiritually definitive |
| the sporting life |
| the standards |
| the strange business |
| the structure |
| the struggle |
| the struggles of pantheists |
| the subtle disagreement |
| the successful solutions of believers |
| the tourist guide |
| the trade |
| the travel guide |
| the trick |
| the unexpected |
| the universe dining out |
| the unspoken and hope |
| the view |
| the walk |
| the watch |
| the way |
| the whole village |
| the window from the alley |
| the winter cloud |
| the women and poetics |
| the words |
| the wound |
| the wrestler |
| the wrong lesson |
| the wrong ones |
| the zen slumber party |
| their accumulated histories |
| their own band |
| then again |
| there is an etiquette attached to everything |
| there is no direction |
| there is nothing quiet about reading |
| there seemed to be no reason |
| there was no better ending |
| these days |
| things that cannot be mitigated |
| things want to be themselves |
| thinking it through |
| this is how it is |
| those that are involved |
| to close the door |
| to say what a thing is |
| too fond of their desires |
| training your feet |
| transcendental morning |
| truth as a metaphor |
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