Poems by Walter Heineman
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Home
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| the nutritionist |
| the seduction of absolutes |
| the suicide |
| the terrain |
| under the big top |
| what our human spirit is |
| what you meant |
| when something is empty |
| when the service begins |
| why live in a world that does not answer |
| windows rattling in the wind |
| without identity |
| adherence to principles |
| boredom |
| cemetery flowers |
| compassion |
| habitats and drinking songs |
| he watches over |
| i am not |
| i cannot count the mornings |
| i listen to my political leaders |
| i make my will |
| i opened the door |
| i see the flagellants |
| if sin or evil exist for you |
| in common |
| it gets even more complicated |
| life teaches you |
| my fatalistic friend |
| my house does not overlook anything |
| no i really mean it |
| not a strategy |
| physicist of salvation |
| the anima |
| the better angel within me |
| the big wink |
| the elegant is simple |
| the heretic |
| the last tether of a relativist |
| the more complicated strands of dna |
| the most difficult thing |
| the new world puritan |
| the science of the winds |
| to be served |
| what has it become |
| what is the use |
| you cannot threaten misfortune |
| before the temple doors |
| bon appetit |
| choices |
| deliverance |
| finding a god that lasts |
| how did you watch your innocence leave |
| humility |
| i am not one to criticize |
| i can see the young boys are going fishing |
| i do not clean up as much anymore |
| i suppose it depends on how and with whom you die |
| i walk by the bedroom |
| if death is not thirsty |
| if you come to spend the morning |
| it is a quaint thought |
| keeping their appointments |
| languid sighs |
| lunar memory |
| more than love has been stolen |
| no one is confessing tonight |
| no wonder my neighbors complain |
| nothing goes away in my dreams |
| once the rumor has started |
| perspective in life and art |
| released from lockup |
| territoriality and the first establishment of rights |
| the angelic lover |
| the bazaar |
| the early stages |
| the emergency ward fills up tonight |
| the moon crossing a field |
| the night is not that cold |
| the right question |
| the sordid |
| the thoughts of some people |
| the vow of poverty |
| the wrong direction |
| the zen scrapbook |
| there is no room for sentimental stories |
| twenty more winters |
| we knew it was coming |
| whatever it means |
| gun violence |
| handmade shrine |
| i do not try to avoid being what I am |
| sometimes i forget and sometimes i remember |
| sports and science |
| the crow is not singing |
| the idolaters |
| the key to the future |
| the lack of priorities |
| the perimeter of power |
| the secret |
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