"I have been reading your poems evenings. Very enjoyable. A wonderful mix of erudition,
whimsy, and gloom. Thanks for making them available."
---W. W. , M. D.
Harvard Medical School
"North Pomfret Poems reveals an astonishing array of personalities, and all those
puckish word plays and twists...What a treat."
---M. Bouchard, Author
"The poems are wonderfully various---some robust and daring, others melancholy
and contemplative, and some downright funny."
NORTH POMFRET POEMS
Songs of Life,
Love, and Death
For Four Seasons
Peter Fox Smith's love for poetry, like that for opera, dates from early childhood. A great-grandfather
was a published poet, a favorite Uncle endlessly recited Shakespeare by heart, and from his baritone
father Peter became familiar with great poems set to music. Often rather than doing assigned homework
Peter spent hours reading and memorizing poetry by Tennyson, Shakespeare, Coleridge, and others.
He began writing his own poems in Junior High School.
While in graduate school at Harvard, Peter Fox Smith was a member of the renowned American poet
Robert Lowell's Poetry Table. Peter's first published poems appeared in Scribe Literary Quarterly and
were praised by Harvard Professor Ralph Lazaro, a linguist who could read, write, and speak twelve languages.
NORTH POMFRET POEMS, Peter Fox Smith's first book of poetry, presents selected poems written between
1968 and 1993. Almost all the poems were written in North Pomfret, Vermont and many of them originated
in the life he and his family lived on their small farm.
This book's poems vary from the philosophical to the literal, some are descriptive of the natural
changes of the seasons, others humorous, like this last poem in the book which recently
"brought down the house" as he concluded one of his popular readings:
Too much limb and pound
For little left
Don't let those who care
Cage me, fancy-boxed,
Under ugly, marble-topped,
Leave no hair on
Nor jelly-stuffed flesh
On bony legs.
To purchase NORTH POMFRET POEMS, please see the Contact page.
But save ashes few
For a minute glass
So my wife can
Time her eggs.