Worthy
O gods, the sprawling earth-
Bound spirits spawning
Their issue in aether,
Spilling their fire-
Like essence over
A consummate
Wine dark sea!
new old kid on the blog, with an occasional old or new poem written off the old writer's block
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Whence the Problem of Poetics
Poetry? I remember
I had a soft spot for it in my heart
That became hard to explain
Once I let it enter my brain.
I had a soft spot for it in my heart
That became hard to explain
Once I let it enter my brain.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Good-For-Nothing Record of a No-Account
His ledger rife with minuses,
Two plus two never making four,
He put a rifle up his sinuses—
Nothing made sense anymore.
Recently Linked: My thanks to Elisabeth Hanscombe, who has just signed on as a follower. Elisabeth hails from Victoria, Australia and is a writer and psychologist who can be found writing on her blog , Sixth In Line.
Two plus two never making four,
He put a rifle up his sinuses—
Nothing made sense anymore.
Recently Linked: My thanks to Elisabeth Hanscombe, who has just signed on as a follower. Elisabeth hails from Victoria, Australia and is a writer and psychologist who can be found writing on her blog , Sixth In Line.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Another Oral Writing Lesson
--after Claude Lévi-Strauss(1908-2009)
Whoever said that
Writing could change
The intellectual
Conditions of human existence
Should have thought twice
Before writing it.
(Written after learning of Claude Lévi-Strauss' death on
Ron Silliman's blog.)
Whoever said that
Writing could change
The intellectual
Conditions of human existence
Should have thought twice
Before writing it.
(Written after learning of Claude Lévi-Strauss' death on
Ron Silliman's blog.)
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Supplicant
High above the ruins
Of Ancient Messene
And below the lone village restaurant,
There is a haggard dog chained
To a large, earthenware jar.
His view of this once-rich
City is indeed magnificent, truly
Uplifting to the spirit, but
As he knows it by heart,
He prefers to sit on his haunches
And turn his back on it,
Looking up instead for any sign
Of the bones he prays the gods
Might find it in their hearts
To throw down to him.
Of Ancient Messene
And below the lone village restaurant,
There is a haggard dog chained
To a large, earthenware jar.
His view of this once-rich
City is indeed magnificent, truly
Uplifting to the spirit, but
As he knows it by heart,
He prefers to sit on his haunches
And turn his back on it,
Looking up instead for any sign
Of the bones he prays the gods
Might find it in their hearts
To throw down to him.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
My Friend Tree
Lorine,
I thought it was
the wind,
and turned in time
to see
leaf after leaf falling
between
my friend and me.
I thought it was
the wind,
and turned in time
to see
leaf after leaf falling
between
my friend and me.
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