Grave Autumn Harbinger

After the cleansing 
Downpour, the dust- 

Free last glistening 
Raindrop left trembling 

On the leaf at the end 
Of the branch 

That will not break hesitates, 
Yet remains unwavering 

In the anticipation 
Of something clearly 

Momentous waiting 
To happen so that it can 

Let go and return—wasted?— 
To dust once more. 

Archilochos, Fragment 113, trans by Guy Davenport

 

B(l)ackwash Flash

A deus ex machina   

Out of the clear

Blue skies, a murder

 

Of Herculean proportions

Of Parnassian poison

Penned crows freed

 

Helter-skelter to rescue

A cooped up slew of most

Foully maligned ruffled brooding

 

Birds of a feather

In one darned swell poetic

Swoop together!

 

Unspeakable Progeny

Standing in awe 
Before the naked, 

Silent figures we wonder what 
The ancient artists possessed 

That clothed these statues in 
This transfixing transcendent 

Light which slowly diffused it- 
Self to posterity, 

And yet how it is we 
Ended up straightaway 

Blind, deaf, and yes— 
Dare we utter it?—so 

Stupendously, 
Spellbindingly 

Dumb. 

After Archilochos: Ball-buster

[    ] of that

[    ] [    ] [    ] she

[    ] gave so

[

[

[

[    ] [    ]

[ willingly [then?]

[

[

[    ] [    ] left

[

[

[    ] [    ] me

[

[

[

[ lame?] [    ] a limp

[

[

[    ] [    ] shaft I would

[    ] give my [right?]

[    ] [   ] [    ]

[    ] nut to get

[    ] [    ] [    ] [    ] [    ] it straight

[a way?] back

[

[

[

[    ]  [    ] a [gain?]