Sunday, January 31, 2010
Caesar: not having lived
Caesar: not having lived what was
written, has he not begun to learn
longings in tumbling tongues groping
cumulonimbus suns. a luster unknowing
stagnant algal depths past pitch & yowl
the past’s blackened tarns, the dark track
archaic days lumber east shaking slumber.
whole homes composed of stone lived here
& died among vatic tribes
who dwell where the lions have gone.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
"Of what we had been and were no more" D. Schwartz
Is this my child, the child none bear, staggering
Godless, foreboding a solemn, unconsecrated past?
He’ll dream of knives, of kings without eyes,
Servitude & crime, legions of angels unable to fly,
Wounded on wing & trampled underfoot
With no stars left to climb yet so hungry to shine.
His right of birth hammered panels of discarded bronze
Scraps raised in odd public squares praising
Nameless fathers & daughters, artists, their lovers,
Butchers with faces, mothers, the craven:
A select few assassins taken with life. The season
Turned quickly. Unnoticed. Cornice grotesques
Grinning through ice, geese huddling close.
In these woods great trees fall. In these woods
We lumber slow while slowly wilting, like cut flowers
Drying, flowers which stemmed from your asking.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
"is there distance in his head?" S. Heaney
feel insect hunger
naked, peeling, feeding
as if meadows sprung
a traveler’s daughter,
unsent letter addressed,
travels with daughter.
‘No one once faces,’ she said
the year at end,
again. ‘What did I not say,’
I should have said.
folds of billowed ulster
no common refrain.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
These Fictions Called Gods
In horror those close stood numb.
Alone at rest among the diggings
Dug men chest to chest to exhaustion
Lifting hands as angels gravely
Venerate sculpted native stone.
Angry, I, now desperately past cure,
Past care, did expect
Vainly truthful frantic mad unrest
As madmen are bright random reason sworn.
These fictions called gods, temples
Of demons the body politic, licentious
Casts donned of republic tongues
Invoking a spirit, a divine mount
A commemorative cant for the dead.
Dead, their conquerors under crosses of rough basalt.
When I lie down, like a rock, weathered
Immutable, dreamless, unshackled
From this earthen bed spread indiscriminate,
I have no force or power.
Jackals trot before my palace, howl
Thorn-crowned echoes to pain weary heads
Bent in pious slumber. Each sleep
A rock with a great fear of falling.
When I lie down, like a rock,
Each sleep a falling,
I have no force or power.
My angels sit eager to dine
Ravenously, devouring all that I would have to be
Leaving only gristle, marrow,
Bone in my wake. No one
Who’s watched this battle be fought
Can walk across its battlefield. A war
Like me remains unappeased
Boasting that I for nothing died.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
"time & grief & self so-called" S. Beckett
& time & grief & self/stale blood
twined nails/twisted trees leathery
leaves wide/this blind vacuity/
oblique entwined copses shoulder
to shoulder lie/wake back to back
breath heavy caustic together/
ponderous chain in callused palms
musing linen windings cradling
poppies & oblivion/
open mouths wrestle with words only
so much/crutches skulking to dusk/
alone the half hour struck/
Friday, January 22, 2010
"Unless you got lost on purpose
You would never get this far." Ryokan
orchids heavy, hung
with dew, edge heaven’s sorrow
closed, the low gate mute
from sung mountain rain once fell
as soft as silken petals
beneath the wine star
storms the twilit hermit's songs:
muscle, marrow soar
swallows willowing heavens
as close as Japanese skies