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Monthly Archives: September 2013

#150

lament for my right hand                   (published in Poem, May 1999)

I want something solid
to come from this hand
something to prolong its life
so I can say,
“See there. That arrow
that is sticking in the ground.
Touch it.
It came from my living hand
that is not yet bleeding.”

 
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Posted by on September 30, 2013 in previously published, springboards

 

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#149

That conversation—you know the one

She gives me the big blah…blah…blah
the so-you-know I have anticipated
since her lips first opened to mine.

        –a breath–

She gave me first
her only-on-Tuesdays
a gift that made me nervous
like fruitcake brought over by a new neighbor.
Unsure of what to do with it
I hesitated
and then stumbled through a few I-totally-agrees.
It was enough for her then.

But now this,
this blah…blah…blah.
I know I can’t fake it.
I can’t cover my feelings
with some pre-packaged saying
that really means nothing.
My without-a-doubts won’t help me now.

And the big blah…blah…blah
still hangs there.
So now what?

        –a breath–

 
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Posted by on September 29, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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#148

For Poet Marc                       (old)

Sometimes you know

An image, a line, strikes you
And you start
Then it flows
Smooth, continuous
A wave begun far out in the ocean
That travels and travels
Gently pushed by the wind
(with the depths always underneath)
It rises and flows
Line by line
Image by image
Until the wave
The poem
Finally crashes and then eases
Its white foam
Onto the shore

And you realize
On the sand of your finishing
What a ride it was
And sometimes you know
What it means to be a poem
What it means to be a poet

 
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Posted by on September 28, 2013 in old discoveries

 

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#147

Barophobia                        (new)

I

Gravity pulls waves closer to me
Murmuring in the small round rocks.
Gravity also pulls dead cells from my skin
Parts of me that kiss the earth.

I control neither.

II

I am afraid of going blind.

III

Yesterday you told me you loved me
And my body felt suddenly heavier.
I murmured back, “I love you, too.”

IV

If I were a bird
I would always fly with the wind
Choosing ease over purpose
Choosing grace over direction.

I study the dissolution of clouds.

V

To me you are
An enigma of flesh
A puzzle of flesh
A challenge of flesh.

VI

When I drive over a bridge
I am always afraid I will suddenly swerve
To purposefully crash through the guard rails
And fly, briefly, over open water.
My hands shake on bridges.

VII

I close my eyes at sunsets and sunrises.
I need the solid blue of the day
Or the solid black of the night.

VIII

I think I am afraid of you.

 
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Posted by on September 27, 2013 in new poetry

 

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#146

moving on

wear those ruby shoes, girl,
the ones you stole
from the little old lady
who used to be pretty, too;
it’s your turn
to dance with the magic

but no matter what they say
you can’t go back home
not even by wishing–
they’ve already turned your bedroom
into a den
and boxed away
your old pictures

so click your ruby heels together
and wish for a car–
a yellow Jaguar
to drive you down the road

 
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Posted by on September 26, 2013 in old discoveries, springboards

 

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#145

Death in a Department Store                      (college)

The creature died
On the top shelf of the toy section.
Hitting the ground,
He splattered blood and perfect childhood gore
On the Tinkertoys and Barbie’s New Fashion Hair.
No customers seemed to notice,
But eventually a worker walked into Aisle 8
Mopped him up and carted him away.
His killer, seeing this,
Turned and shuffled over to Aisle 20 (automotive supplies)
Squeaking in his new Italian dress shoes.
They were one size too big
But he was growing into them.

 
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Posted by on September 25, 2013 in old discoveries

 

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#144

After being told by my student
that she loves me

The snow falls
Willingly
Down the sky
And I do not stop it.
But I,
The mountain wolf,
Upon feeling the cold on my pelt
Retreat to my den,
My haven.
I realize the deepening of the snow
And how everything pauses
During a storm
Awkward in the face of its power.
But I have aged enough to know
It will end
And the world will be subtly different—
              Old tracks covered
              Old scents blended in.
And when the snow stops
I will dance in the open
Shaking silver drops from my fur,
Celebrating moonlight.
Twirling and flashing
I will catch the eyes of the hunter
To show her the end of the storm
And the joy of the dance.

 
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Posted by on September 24, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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