It must have been a robber
It must have been a thief
It must have been a pirate king
Who else could have done such a terrible thing?
Not me!
A Likely Story
Reply
Category Archives: poem
In Cold Comfort
There isn’t much left for me to do
During this dead of winter
While the snow covers me up
Like language, like bitter
Hexameters, like a cold poem.
Like a long letter from home.
Like the fall of words
That piled up years long
That thawed and froze and thawed and froze
That one fine day were dislodged by a mere nothing
That avalanched all at a go
And strewed our bodies to the far reaches
Of the meadow, from which they
Couldn’t ever be recovered
When it turned out spring
Didn’t come.
The Panther
From so much eyeing of these bars
The panther’s gone cage-blind
So that it sees a thousand bars,
And not the world behind.
Lithely padding, circling
In movement without cease
It coils its body like a spring
That cannot find release.
And sometimes on its eye within,
The silent pictures start–
That rush through sinew, nerve and skin,
But vanish at the heart.
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Rilke drew me in again; I’m not quite sure why. His lyricism? His romanticism? This particular poem’s fusion of imagism and philosophizing that, though it stops well short of banality, is certainly situated somewhere along the obviousness spectrum? Likely enough it was over-exposure to the slavish word-bound accuracy of over-respectful translators who run roughshod over sense and sensibility to turn–for example–this:
Sein Blick ist von Vorübergehen der Stäbe
so müd geworden, daß er nichts mehr hält. (Ranier Maria Rilke)
into this: Continue reading
Stone’s Throw
(a song for music)
Your son lay sleeping in his bed
A mile behind you, you were thinking
He was young for now, but how times flies;
Remembering how you woke and dressed
And kissed your wife before you left
And how your life’s a series of goodbyes
Staring through the tinted glass
You watched the traffic rolling past you
Back toward the place you longed to be;
The light changed and you drove away
And never chose the choice you made
Too late for everything to turn out differently
As if you’d thrown a stone into a pond
And now the moment and the stone are gone
But still the ripples carry on
The birds were singing, you were laughing,
Standing on the corner, happy
Just to have no place to have to go;
You were young and almost free
Still waiting for your destiny
So certain when it came along you’d know
The breeze blew and the sun was shining
Life was fine, and everyone
Was kind, there were no losers at this game;
And then you turned and moved along
The sun went down and life went on
And everything has changed but something’s still the same
As if you threw a stone into a pond
And now the moment and the stone have gone
But still the ripples carry on
I met you accidentally
The same way everybody meets
I didn’t think you’d come along so soon;
We sat together on the grass
And watched the passing strangers walk
Into the glass and laughed beneath the moon
And then I woke up in your arms
And my whole world was charmed, and if
You told me this was love then I’d agree;
Now you might go and I might stay
It matters so much either way
But come what may you’ll always be a part of me
And if you throw a stone into a pond
After the moment and the stone are gone
The ripples carry on
Against Alphabet Picture Books, the Gods Themselves Contend in Vain
Alphabet books – cease doing!
Everybody’s fails, goes headlong into
jangling, klanging lines.
Meaning no offense, please quit.
Readers’ll say thanks, ultimately.
Very warmly,
XXX,
Yours —
Zeus
For singing
I found the word I love:
It rhymes with everything.
I said it once, and now
I cannot speak for singing.
That Old Grave-Dancer’s Song
Sometimes morose but never sad
I’m vicious to what comes along.
They’ll dance and dance when I am dead
To that old grave-dancer’s song.
Don’t pretend you don’t know me
This morning when you passed
Me and I followed
You on the sidewalk
Your shadow after you’d passed
Was right there in my way,
So I stepped on your shadow’s
Head. All the way down the sidewalk
I secretly followed,
Skipping discreetly, your shadow’s
Trail, stepping and stepping the whole way.
The Limerick-an Constitution: Article I
The Constitution of the United States (A Limerick Cycle)
Preamble and Article I
Preamble
The Union we hereby decree
Shall be Just, Blessed, Tranquil, and Free.
We establish, ordain it,
And herein explain it,
Presuming you all will agree.
Article I.
Section 1.
The power for all Legislating,
Resolving, and also Debating,
Inheres in the Senate
And the Representat-
ives, as we’re herein designating.
Section 2.
Representatives each State supplies
Proportionally to its size.
(There’s provision for Slaves
And for Indian braves,
But that language no longer applies.)
Representatives serve for the space
Of two years, then must run a new race.
If one of them dies
Their Governor supplies
Us another to serve in his place.
The Prince Who Succeeded in Slaying the Giant (A Cautionary Tale)
The Prince was bold, the Prince was brave,
The Prince was young and strong,
All of these things he was, and yet
He did not live so long.
The Prince sought the Princess’s hand;
The King, to try his skill,
Commanded, “Slay the giant!”
And the Prince, he said, “I will!”
The giant’s name was Fumblegrunt
The largest of that race –
Full thirty yards he measured,
From his feet up to his face!
All night they fought, and then all day;
All afternoon as well;
Until at last the brute was slain
– And then, of course, he fell.
For Fumblegrunt was huge and strong,
And ugly and appalling;
And heavy, too, as the Prince found, who
Reckoned without his falling.
So once you’ve slain the giant –
Though your heart be filled with pride –
O once you’ve slain the giant,
Don’t forget to step aside.
Bag of Anything 