I awoke unable to remember
how or why we write poems
or make these line breaks
alerting us to another way
of reading and seeing
now I remember
meanwhile
rainwater collecting in buckets
shone like something holy
[first posted 17 Jan 2015]
Tag: poetry
howl
dog on the bed
like a polar landmass in the spring
I would give anything
to be like you
yours is an empire of the skin
mine the meandering way within
an island off the compass of the world
go howl your howl
let it be heard
[first posted 1 Jan 2017]
the price of light bulbs
you sit at your table writing
while I sit at mine
I’d like to have coffee with you sometime
a glass or two of wine
discuss the price of light bulbs
or the intricacies of verse
there are subjects far worse
such as love
loss
domesticity
it would all be with the greatest civility
though I cannot remain serious
for too long
I knew a girl once made me laugh so much
I could have wept
but now she’s gone
and I am undone
so here’s to you
and whatever it is you write
so feverishly
uneasily
at your table
I am unable to stand the light
for much longer
at any price
[first posted Jan 10, 2016]
from another ocean
tales were told at table
that night
and when it came to my turn
I said
why is it always my turn
and the answer came back
you’re the only one
here
so I recounted the days of my
youth
which I missed grievously
and told
of sorrows and lost loves
and worse things
wearing my heart wide open
recalling
the story of the whale mother
singing
to her stolen calf unceasingly
even
from another ocean
not even love
you said you’d show me a good time
but now it’s past time
and I’m uncertain of the days
my mother’s people came from Italy
but the limestone Auden praised
means not a thing to me
nor all the masters at top table
I’d like to name them
when I’ve had a few
they mutter sonnets in their soup again
they should be locked away
for what they did to me
we have no culture but the one we made
a gaudy hit parade
tinsel and after-shave
what is a good time anyway
you never did quite say
before you went
oh how the masters would lament
not even love is heaven sent
fall
death was not so difficult
like falling from a plane
down through all the centuries
to learn it all again
and still I fall
fall and fall
until I learn
once and for all
to write with greater reach
write poetry in
the rhythms of common speech
headland 2
I often walk
this stony beach
uncomfortable upon the feet
but conducive to the mind
though I would rather not make rhymes
but wander to a place I know
around the headland
a mile or more
a little bay
a sheltered cove
where I arrange the stones
just so
bereft of any rhyme
or reason
hard to find
in any season
not on maps
nor in guide books
I only find
when I don’t look
tryst
pale hart in the copse at dusk
under stars
that bristle on a chinless heaven
faith
I have none
these things are random
I turn up my collar on the night
knowing
she is already gone
Bell Lane 2
where is the bell
in Bell Lane?
summer has departed
and nothing is the same
love has gone forever
and nothing now remains
but words
there rings the bell
in Bell Lane
in so many words
consider the geography of your utterance
its highlands – valleys – plateaus
its backways tracks and roads
then you will have traveled a good way in a day
and know where the line-breaks go
I was taught poetry by a map-maker
a walker
a man of the lakes and fells
this is what he tried to tell me
in so many words
