Five Reasons Robert Frost is My Favorite Poet

Robert Frost on a 10 cent US postage stamp (Wikimedia Commons).

Robert Frost is one of the most known and loved American poets. Almost everyone has heard at least one of his poems, maybe even three or four. Did Robert Frost just get lucky, or is there something truly brilliant about his poetry?

Of course there is some level of luck in any success, but Frost also wrote some of the greatest poems in the English language. Here are five reasons why Robert Frost is my favorite poet.

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He always loves you

When He cries, it rains,
but he is not crying this morning.
The sun is shining through the window,
lying on the pedals of a poinsettia.

He sits up in bed.
He stretches his arms
and the universe expands.
He smiles contentment.

He tiptoes down the stairs.
He has perfected his
apple cinnamon oatmeal recipe,
and He is ready to share it
with you and your lover.

He grew the finest oats.
He handpicked the best apples.
He cooks now in the quiet hour.
He knows you love apple cinnamon.

But He doesn’t stop there.
He cooks a feast:
steamed greens,
scrambled eggs, fried eggs,
bacon and sausage,
waffles and pancakes,
and fruit salad.

He is eager to share it with you and your lover.
He wonders why you are still so quiet.
He looks out the front window,
and discovers your car is gone.

He calls.
He waits.
The feast goes cold.
The vegetables wilt,
the eggs get soggy,
the bacon and sausage dry out,
the waffles and pancakes go stale,
and the fruit salad turns brown.

Finally, He decides to eat without you.
He finishes and cleans up.
Then you and your lover
come in the back door,
wet from the rain,
with a small bag of leftovers from
a fast food restaurant.

A Sound in the Woods

angled trees
tangled and squeezed
full of colored leaves

and leaves falling down
to the ground by the pound
i walk brisk in the yard
to their crunchy, crisp sound

and i’m astounded by the whole world
the blue sky beyond pines
the blue sky beyond orange oaks
and red maples wound in great vines

i’m astounded by the scent that is not just a scent
it’s a lingering sense in the air
a spirit’s descent
smoke from a chimney

i’m absorbed in the present
leaves decomposing
apple crisp baking
harvest moon glowing
i spent my saturday raking

fog from my breath
yet i’m warm and content
in my long johns and flannel and jeans

…until i heard that sound in the trees

it was short like breath
but deep like the sea

i started to run away, but thought,
“maybe someone needs me
maybe they need my help”

so in i ran to the forest canopy
the woods were cold and damp
like an unfinished basement
it gave me chills as i ran

deeper, darker
then the sound came again
louder, uglier and unintelligible
though, it sounded human

my heart beat hard
my hands couldn’t steady
as i approached a meadow
my soul wasn’t ready
for what i was about to see…

…to be continued
on the next All Hallow’s Eve

Walking at Dawn

Suburban Autumn Night

Looking, as I walk, from the street
Looking at people watching glowing TVs
Looking at a lonely man, with a nice car, eat
Looking at porches decked for Halloween
Looking for the wind that is shaking the leaves
Looking
Wondering who might be looking at me