Posted on 11/24/2003 9:52:48 AM PST by January24th
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That's it. Now, get busy and write!
ta-dah!
Well, no host around the sun.
But its an important day.
say what(final exam)
she turns the pages
quickly, too quickly for
absorption of the printed
message but too slowly to
amount to riffling
that would signal
complete disinterest ,
the pages
lash the silence
like she wants to do to him
cause he’s supposed to ask
“what?” so she can say
“nothing.”
Sometimes
breakfast table
philosophy tests
invite the clever
one word question
or reply
that seem obvious in
significance
needing no explanation
But goodbye is the kind answer
that confers the protective
cover of significance
over the shivering shoulders
of the invisible and makes
them manifest.
A response that might require
many pages of equations
to be derived
with complimentary errors
on both sides
which in finality equalise
and there is no need
to show one’s work,
cause the solution
suffices.
Ash can‘s cool
Crow calls
announce the
pour of fall-
blue sky’s liquid
ingot of industrial cause,
from red autumn‘s
Bessemer belly,
and salute
the approach
of the cold roll
of winter days
that will settle
upon their carbon
shouldered
street choir .
They make decibels
in raucous, caucus, ruckus
dropping carbon notes
into pig iron, crow bars
rubber tires , guitars
drifting their
legacy of sooty feathers
and cracking caws
over edifices raised to arts
and letters,
funded by philanthropy
and dedicated to reducing
omissions.
i like
women
swinging
swimmin'
in the sunrise
red light
reluctant dawn
drawn
in another color
pacific
but specific
like a ghost
reality
in mist
sketched
in tidal spray
I wanted to name you Ruth
voyer-like
stares
explore
your/my
eyes
League of their own
Ladies understand
there's no crying in baseball
the odd rainout game
resumes when the weather clears
tears just ruin the makeup.
displayed
see your breath
breaches startle
the assurance
of the still dark
winter philosophers
of our past days
who are frozen
in the certainty
that all
their arguments
over truth
have been settled
in strange
disconnect
from the proof
of the thrum
and thrill
that links them in
imperceptible debt
each to the other
cold calls
promise little
except possibilites
made visible
when strangers
collide
Winter solstice
Like crickets rub
their chirps to the
tempo dictated
by temperature,
striking a noisy cadence
with their wing shrills
scraping a song
against the ridges
of silence until
the season’s decline
decides upon the time
of the last trill
no one knows
just which moment that is
until it is clear that it was
like “you’re breaking up”
means you understand
you can call from anywhere
to anywhere,
just be advised that the speed
of momentum sometimes
dictates,
that static stands for
the closing when you’ve
said all you’ll get to say
and there’s no need to try
to reconnect just to say
goodbye,
but you don’t know
if that is what it is
when it is
or if it is
unless it was
like the blues slide
guitar fingers begin
to play the pick up notes
that lead into another
tune, lending a transition
to lightly repeated riffs
and glide along the strings
of everbody’s sad
song breathlessly
cooling the space
while everyone waits
for the nod,
the players long sighed,
mmmmmhhhh,
the drop off notes that clean up
the expectations of more where
the words end but not the music
which really never ends
and it doesn’t matter that
no one knows exactly
where that is,
or what that means
until they understand
they’ll never know
until they do.
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
William Carlos Williams.
Everybody likes to have fun with WCW. But I always really liked this poem.
Playing chicken(game hens)
So much depends
upon the poet
as dappled jester
playing twister
with her own lights and shades
and not getting bent out of shape.
drift so slightly
homeward
wish this
day
this longest
night
fails
to edge
my heart
constellar
how drift
the solitude of days
that bear the grid
of home latitudes
and longings
invisible
in the wishing
of hazed suns
haloed moons,
and the star
cinctured
heart that beats
both
against the wind
and the doldrum
delays.
I need
an older soul
one that
can point me
to a place
of peace
or peace
of place
alas
peace of place
Granted.
:)
If peace of place
be the end-all
then peace is
a state...
ruled by will
and acceptance--
or resignation,
and who
can tell the difference?
finally
she sought
sanctuary
in a fortress
of votive candles
and dark
wood mantles
seeking a silence
that stopped short
of surrender
to tomorrow
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