Bookmark, Selected Poems, William Carlos Williams

Out

of these fragile dry
still fragrant yellow-

green stems & leaves
of wild clover pressed

between

the descent
of winter

&

the locust tree
in flower,

the sense of spring.

The Origin of Species

On top of poems are written
Other poems, thus

The destruction of the world's
Perfected.



(from The Intricate Evasions of As)

Logbook Memo

ship

wrecks


memories

harbor



(from The Intricate Evasions of As)

Small-Town Bootblack vs Clunkers, Raymond, Washington, circa 1960: My Almost Inaugural Poem

Coolly

Tooling by that run-down
Shoeshine stand

In their souped-up clunkers,
Our honkies must have thought

The town's sole token Nigger
Ned couldn't tell shit from Shineola;

And that they surely had it over
Him to boot.

I guess that explains why
He was never caught hauling

Smart-ass white punks like us a hundred
Miles to his whores in the city and back

Come late every Saturday night
In that beautiful, sharp, shining, slick

Mother-fucking classic of a black
Eldorado Cadillac.


POSTSCRIPT: I was seriously considering posting this poem before President Obama's inauguration ceremony but decided against it for fear of having my blog flagged for using vulgar, offensive language. However, after reading Ron Silliman's blog which had a link to a Guardian
article about a high school "teacher" in my former home state of Washington, I had second thoughts about not posting it. Hope nobody's offended.

How I Was Cured of Hunting

spied

thrush in thicket
looking

after its wound,
a sprig

of therapeutic

o-
re-
ga-

no in its bleeding
beak.

(First published in Shearsman 62)

Ecology

Jackdaw chatters on
Tip of blighted cypress,

Biting acid tongue.

(First published in NOON: journal of the short poem, #2)

Et in Arcadia ego

Poussin--
I remember

It must have been
Way back then

One spring it was poetic
I was sprightly

Dallying a way behind
Dilapidated swayback nag when

She sent my way a waft
Of her reeking

Slow ancient hind-
Quarters from what seemed half,

Nay, a whole classic pastoral
Country mile away--

I must tell you

I was genuinely
Swept away.

(First published in First Intensity #21, Fall 2006)

Pulp

curioCity kills Bloody Marys
maraschino cherries Pop guns
gang bangs poontang rat snitches
and Edsel squeals

cathouse beldams melt hams down
dog days nightmares ride hunchbacks
warning lights stop critters peeling
rubber dead in their tracks

cornered but ornery
disembodied vulvas bare back
their teeth like

the Cheshire cat.

(First published in Maverick Magazine 6/7)

Skid Row

fool-

hardy
pigeon

taking off
down

precarious
flight

of run-down
steps,

falls
hard

upon
crumb

bum on landing.

(First published in Poetry Salzburg Review #9, Spring 2006)

Cultivating the Species

Sow

Plenty of progeny,
My son--

Weed the pigweed
From the garden

When they're young.

(First published in Arabesques Review, v.2, issue 4)

Not So Scrappy Scrap Mental Man

To foundry,
To foundry,

To found
A mine pig,

Home again,
Home again,

Mind full
Of pig iron,

Jiggety-jig.

Depression in Ft. Atkinson, Wisconsin

Remember our pale, blue
Picket fence, Dad?

We painted it,
As good as new.

You stepped on the gas
Instead of braking,

Shot the Chevy thru.

(First published in Poetry Salzburg Review #2, Winter 2001/2002)

Under Wraps

The mole stays underground,
The moon's undercover;

Everything's understood.


(from The Intricate Evasions of As)

Reading between the Lines

white shoulders
the dream

ploughs
through



(from The Intricate Evasions of As)

Personification

--for John Levy, who was there

a goat prancing?
kids

cross the stream
clearly all

this must be sure
footed

fancy dancing, you
have to look before

you leap.


(First published in Mobius, Spring & Summer, 2005)

Pan: A "Tragic" Dilemma

Another priceless, classic postcard aimed at the hoards of tourists who literally flocked to Greece in the 60s; to fully appreciate the pun in the title, the reader should be aware that Pan i.e. "billy-goat" is "tragos" in Modern Greek. One wonders what our cloven-hooved friend ended up doing after he'd finished scratching his horny head.

Untitled

seed pods bur sting

in cemeteries


(from The Intricate Evasions of As)

Blasphemous Intimations of Mortality

Was wirst du tun, Gott, wenn ich sterbe?
--Rainier Maria Rilke

1.

You fuck,

I keep telling this
Fly around my head,

Take a flying fuck,
Fuck you. But when

I die, dear God,
Who will fuck

The fly, You?

2.

spleen on the fly

Oh, yeah?

You want some fuckin'
Dead meat?

I'll give you some,
You cocky mother

Fuck her, God
I done

Swat her,
Good.

(First published in First Intensity #21, Fall 2006)

Labor of Love

You have to haul
The scattered vatic

Entrails of diplomats
Back to the eviscerated

Halls of peace,
Unravel them on

An unfolding
Crimson carpet,

Make the meaning
Whole again,

Piece by piece.

(First published in The London Magazine February-March 2003)

Recently Linked; DNL #7

My thanks to Annie Wyndham for linking my blog to hers and to Cassandra for becoming another Definitely Not Lemmings--much appreciated.

Mantra

once

she said she feared
the way

she looked at me,
she feared the way

she looked at me,
she said it rhythmically

in such a way
it went away.

(First published in Noon: Journal of the Short Poem, #3)

Sorrow Is

a lone flashing

oar down the river of no

return.



(First published in Poetry Salzburg Review #14, Autumn 2008)