Archive for August, 2008
Three Poems for the End of August
August 30, 2008Poem 1
In the Walled Garden
the body of a wasp
building a home out of paper
eye wet as a drop of blood
anger made flesh, just
waiting to be touched
Poem 2
In the Hotel La More
Bisbee, Arizona
you may be the rain
and the rain comes down
you may be the wind
and the wind blows through
you may be the plain
and the horizon never ends
you may be the Earth
and the Earth rolls away
you may be the tethered star
and the void is the Hotel of Heaven
wherein we shall book a room
and dream ourselves into dust
co-mingled and sleeping
with curtains drawn against the impatient wind
rendezvousing clouds and inevitable rain
Poem 3
Fool*
oh fool in cap-and-bells
how you can dance the black and white
pirouette beneath the porch-light
how you can sing the ladder down
from the lover’s window
how you can vanish the silver key that unlocks
the iron gate between us
oh you fool my favorite card
the one I will always pull from the new deck
slick with witticisms and endless jokes sliding
beneath glass between fingers under doors
oh fool how can you smile through the grease-paint frown
the tear in the corner of your eye a rhinestone
how can you balance a spinning heart on your finger
how can you tenderly kiss the dove in your fist
how you will never understand
no matter how much she protests
she would die if you opened your hand
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*This poem originally appeared in Poem, May 1999, No. 81.
Three Poems About Birds
August 27, 2008Poem 1
Person as Domesticated Bird
You cannot
tech them how to
speak, as some one else
has beaten you
there. Perches on your finger
like a raven
on a dead branch.
Darkness beneath
the feathered layers,
wet eyes bulging
with secrets they have no words
to convey.
Poem 2
Birdwatching
the torsos female bathing-
suited im various hues of blue
heads feathered & beaked
long storky legs wading in warmtide
what exotica for your notebook
flatfooted beachprints like leaves in limestone
necklaces of shell and mother-of-pearl pierced
navels with sterling fish hooks oh
use the black binoculars to bring each one closer
but not too close
as they would eat the live bait out of your hands
ride thermals in circles over your home
steal the puffer fish drying
on the clothes line
and follow you
follow you
to the end of your days
Poem 3
Inca Dove*
I can’t play on your hunger
a handful of seed is not enough
for you sage and scrub in the open desert bare far more
tasty and as pure as the intentions of my voice may be
I can’t call you down with song
when you prefer the croaking tad and creaking limb
how am I to begin to lure you down
with longing like the impulse to gather all that glitters
in your dark eye my words only harden
into reasons for love bars of a cage existing only
so you could fly between them
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*This poem originally appeared in Möbius, Thanksgiving Issue, 2001.
Three Poems for a Wet Monday
August 25, 2008Poem 1
Rendezvous with the Muse
No guardian angel, this one, no
hovering over your shoulder with an occasional
white feather floating down
before your eyes, proof
of the wonders of the invisible world.
No, this one is contrary,
more moody than a bipolar prostitute.
She won’t wait for you
on street corners, won’t take your calls.
Won’t meet you for dinner,
even when you offer to pay
using the currency of your devotion.
But she will come to you,
before dawn, to disrobe your dreams.
And sometimes she will sit at your kitchen table
in the pastel morning light, her hands
holding yours, with nothing between you
but flowers.
Poem 2
Mnemonic Devices
leaking faucet leaf falling lost feather
common place and ordinary
this thought I must hold on to
lacy fan leaning fountain loyal fool
stuff of bad poems and worse prose
this thought I must recognize
lemon flower leather foot little foyer
minutes of the meeting and measure of pride
this thought I must remember
loves fear loves frailty loves forever
every word reminds then replaces
this thought that I forgot
Poem 3
You are Mistaken*
Night crosses her legs.
Day opens her arms.
Once, this was all you dreamed.
Once, time was a track and you were the handcar.
That was before
you lost your rhythm and fell
into the tableau vivant that is
the everlasting now.
You sit at the table between them, those two
abstract sisters, and foolishly assume
you are welcome, and wanted.
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*This poem originally appeared in The Lucid Stone, Winter 1998, No.16.
Three Poems for an August Friday
August 15, 2008
Poem 1
This Can of Worms
oh how they squirm
this handful of gelantinous innuendo
trembling to be thrown
at so-and-so’s mug
you’ve got the proper bait
vibrating & soil-flecked
bet you can slide your tiny barbed words
just under that translucent flesh
go ahead & dangle those earthy morsels
in front of his face hey baby
swim up to the surface
and open your mouth
what you see is victory
what he sees is dinner
get your net ready
this is going to be easy
Poem 2
Strategy
hey honey
where did you get that torpedo
who died and left you
commander of this submarine
stealthy periscope sliding up
through frigid waters in your crosshairs the enemy
spawning a trail of mines
can you navigate through this
do you know when to dive and when to fire
when to surface and open the hatch
your survival depends on knowing when
to maintain radio silence
to ignore the war
Poem 3
Happiness is Much Harder*
than ice or steel or any other temporarily impenetrable
material such as may comprise
the Amazonian shield you are
so quick to wield
it is more difficult
than looking into the hanging mirror you keep hidden
under Victorian tulle in the gloomiest room
of your unvoiced yearnings
it is as challenging
as undreaming the storm of insecurity and anger
funneling into the one heart ravenging yours
it is as foolish
as declining the one wish granted in this life
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*This poem originally appeared in Erete’s Bloom, Summer 2001 No.2
