floating and leaving no trace
So today is the big day. I have three poems appearing in Pomona Valley Review, PVR 9. You can find the FREE pdf at this link: http://pomonavalleyreview.com/currentissue.php Yes, that’s right, you can enjoy lots of great poetry (not just mine), artwork and fiction at NOT COST TO YOU.
Make sure you tell your friends, or at least pass it along to them. Even if they don’t like poetry. That’ll teach ’em.
And it won’t cost you ONE THIN DIME!
he watches her go
and starts to follow
but stops himself
sure that whatever he has to say
has already been said
whatever steps he’s going to take
have already been taken
he thinks about the sound
his footfalls would make
a slapping on the pavement
hurrying to overtake her own
shorter, insistent steps
thinks about how everyone
will stare
and wonder what it is
that he did
because she is the one
storming away
and before she can get any smaller
diminish any more
as she attempts
to merge with the horizon
he runs
I’ve been listening to Glean again, and I have to say that They Might Be Giants never disappoints.
Answer, They Might Be Giants
So make of it
What you will
tap the cards
into matching pairs
it’s important that they match
kings to kings
tens to tens
the game is a hopeless romantic’s
nightmare
why should the jacks all end up together?
never a jack and a queen
or a king and a queen
always a mirror image
even the slick aces
don’t care
sidling up together
as if it meant nothing
when it means everything
i read a story once
where a monk had learned
to slow his mind
so much that he
could actually make
time reverse
to stop the vibrant hum
of atoms and see just
where to touch an object
where to apply pressure
to shatter it
or
to mend it
i don’t believe in clocks
the sun rolls in the sky
or we roll around it
even though a little more
slow thought would be
a balm, really
i can’t fault the world for
turning
or myself for feeling the
centrifugal force
the words dance
as words like to do
like a heartbeat
or a three syllable waltz
one-two-three
one-two-three
one-two-three
the cadence whispered
on everyone’s lips
a chant
a song
a secret
a truth
a magic spell
one-two-three
one-two-three
one-two-three
this new bruise on my wrist
already a dark mark
under the skin
i don’t keep most
for long
but how it appeared here
such a mystery
a horizontal bar with
a small tail
like dalet or resh
or a small burn
but without the pain
as if dreamed i pulled
a tray of cookies
out of the oven
and my hand slipped
and made contact with
the aluminum sheet where
the skin was exposed
we hiked
a trail we had been on before
well, part of it anyway
at a look out
we saw the reservoir
barely a mud pit
the last time we were here
the rains from last week
had left a soft layer of water
like the memory of ice
enough to create a reflection
of the tower
looming over the
otherwise dry bed
we left it
choosing today
to take the steep path
where the people climbing
looked like ants
crawling up a red line
of oxidized dirt
but for a moment
the tower in reverse
in the water
and the largest hill
still ahead of us
and the sun bearing down
hotter than expected
leafless green stem with
single spotless white flower
–even from the mud
blake says love
has the human form divine
but i say it is a furrow
plowed through the
the thoracic cavity
and sown with dragon’s teeth
just as cursed as those from aeetes
swat one risen spartoi down
and up rises another
and these modern boys
won’t be fooled by rocks
Words and Feathers 