Poetry June 2018

 

 

 

three tanka

 

naked
mercy
is this
the only
way

dictators
know how
to smile
just right
at neophytes

20th century
Archduke Ferdinand
never dealt with
an overzealous
twitter user

 

 

wilding

quaking the decent
passages

the polished and angry

wanting more

at the top of their lungs
calling

the foolish bullies
to demi-war

in their eyes and mouths

a trick
or is it fate

 

three poems

this clear blue sky disturbs me
because I know it ends

then there is blackness and the stars
which are already gone

 

over a tiny glass of wine
I watch the moon

etched and dusty
we are so much alike

 

an aggravated bee
watches me

admiring
its choice of blossom

 

 

For Gerda Taro

 

the thinest death

a new mown field
fresh milk
birdsong with purpose

the unknown instant

beyond science
or principles

a little fissure
measured for each

the fallen falling in

 

 

 

child 

what to do

with the child
having

nightmares
about being

wrapped
in a silver blanket

inside a room
of hollow diamonds

with a dark green monster
peering into her eyes

 

 

 

 

 

love

the fire in the pit
crackled

like departing
footsteps

between sparks
I looked where
you used to be

seeing your bulky
warmth placid
like a comforting
angel-mama
tilting your head
and blinking
at the stars

sisters in the woods

your finger is littler than mine
so the thorn cut deeper

it’s ok it’s ok don’t cry

when we get home

i’ll get you a bandage

with a picture on it

yes i will

 

why don’t we call them spectacles anymore?

vovo pushed them back
from the tip of her nose

and watched avo leaving
with his lover

much later, I found them

calamitously lapped by
the opaque

anger (two landay)

monsters drinking the tears of children
trying to sate their unquenchable thirst for power

angry blades slice through the soft green grass
headless and smooth they spread out for your eye’s confection

Immorality

for all the children torn from the arms of their mothers

looking back

she remembers
mama

sliding

from her hands

a sliver
of light

extinguished

the peach orchard

for years we’ve mourned
the orchard’s phantoms

the fruit of their branches
a substantial fantasy

of suburban childhood

those of us in the orchard
climbed despite signs

none the worse
hands full of ripening fruit

other children never got nearer
to the orchard

than a picture book
flat and lacking

their hands dirty too but not sticky
with the juice of peaches

hanging so near on the page
they could almost

almost taste them

Unmarked

he died in
infancy

when stones

marked
time spent

so instead
a number

was crudely cut
into the walk

the grass covered it

you could see it
if you rubbed

with a sturdy toe

but that
was many years ago

when I was a child

mourning
a baby

tuesday: four short poems

leaves
in the pool
a cricket
sails
by

mama
eyes
the needle
frustrated
when
it blinks

my hat is
made of paper
it floats
atop my
head
more parasol
than chapeau

give me a word
i’ll expand
your horizons
i’ll give you bread
with fresh honey

closing the book

a tale
of longing

long since
yellowed

I’m surprised
the pages
have lasted

a lifetime

I pull it out
to find some
good

and end up
choked
by the dust

I rub my eyes
as if

it will cure
my blindness

adventurer

(for A.B.)

stirring my cup
of endless black coffee

wondering why

am I stirring it at all

scandal

did the dinosaurs know
about the comet

I always wondered if they did

they didn’t care
because after all they

were the dinosaurs

the biggest bastards on earth

the snail

when the poison didn’t kill it
I took it up

letting it live
in a long plastic box

where it could see but never touch
the green green grass

I loved so much

life together

you’ve dragged the story too long

it’s like an overstuffed bag
ready

to break apart

you drag it
all your life dragging it
disgracing it careless

it’s not all your’s
you at least know that

take your hands away
now

while I’m watching

leave it there on the side

the last storm

sitting in the facility
watching father sleep
as lightening thatches
his bare crown
and thunder stirs
his sparse lashes
this storm will pass