Sending poetry to the world
There is this cat on the walk
And when I shuffle on by,
She swishes her tail, she
Stops to say hi.
There is this cat on the walk,
I swear she knows me,
She looks up with pause,
She rubs legs with a cause.
And before she runs off
This cat seems to say
“You think it ain’t true
But I’m one you once knew….”
When they told me
she had died,
I went to the piano.
Mazurka
by Chopin –
in the pained
stutter of
one who doesn’t
practice much.
Again, and again,
low D to high, hit the
trill,
bass chords steady,
decrescendo leading to a…
false note.
Again.
All the while thinking,
I should have practiced more.
I should have…
creak the casebound open
bury nose deep, inhale more
tradition old, rich
pages, each begging
like American beauties
perfuming the yard.
aside from some miserable treatment at the W Chicago Lakeshore (don’t stay there), what a beautiful city! even in clouds. reminds me of almost three years ago…
http://presssend.blogspot.com/2010/02/sky-cannot-know-ground.html
new poetry will return soon. still working on my submission for the Ruth Lily scholarship! until then, enjoy….
mother and father
sit at the head
of the table
one day I suppose
they will come
to my house instead
and I will
take their place.
I … just … don’t know what to say about Japan. Heart-breaking. I cannot write about it right now, but I did want to share a piece written back in 2004 during the “Christmas tsumani” in Thailand… I’m still not sure about this, so please leave your comments.
Wrapping Paper (2004):
There is wrapping paper at my door. In black, the headlines:
A tsunami in Thailand and a hundred
thousand lost souls.
In red are the ads, the last great sale at Sears.
I crumple the paper to wrap
red swirl
martini glasses I’m giving this Christmas;
We tear the paper, litter the carpet–
the piles of red and black wrappings, they
begin to lay like bodies.
Oh God, the bodies!
“and the earth quaked mightily and shook down the houses,
wrapped them in dust.
and the sea rose and wrapped its mouth round the children,
swallowed them whole.”
Flotsam litters the carpet. There is nothing left to do here
but pick up the pieces. But there,
there –
God be with the people in Japan, and all those still dealing with the effects of natural disasters from someone who literally cannot imagine it.
clouds are a soft grey
zibeline scarf choking the
neck of the city.
like meeting a Grizzly
on a river bank in Alaska —
inevitable
that he will
out run
out swim
out climb
you
but has he decided?
has he felt a similar fear?
like the slow
melt of muscles into bed
first shivering
then slowly
toes on up
warming, letting go
soft leather, pillows
reach, wrap, magically take me
as their own – day ends.
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