salamanderpoems.blogspot.com
Salamander Cove: October 2011
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Poetry from Here and There. 02 October, 2011. When she objected that the bedroom. Was too hot that summer day. For what I had proposed and suggested. We create a spectacle of ourselves. For the audience of trees and shrubs. In our backyard, I had forgotten. And when we spread wide open. The sheet and sleeping bag on the grass,. Out of sight (mostly) of the road,. And released our entire bodies,. Piece by piece of clothing,. Into the arms of the air. Which, unaccustomed to such. I was not thinking at all.
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Salamander Cove: May 2012
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Poetry from Here and There. 21 May, 2012. I could wish poems happened more, but wanting them. Only leads to the impediment of desire and desire. Is never equal to the act. It’s much the same as looking back,. Expecting a story and finding the characters already dead. The surprise of that. How the past gets worn down by idle use. These days the poem comes much as the first bat does. In the false dawn. Its flight the mental stumble that I love. I have my hungers even as they elude me. A mourning dove rests.
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Salamander Cove: May 2011
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Poetry from Here and There. 25 May, 2011. All it took was one light note. By one calm slave. A single note a supple instant. For the muffled clamor of offense. Tucked at the back of black veins. To rise and burst into the stirless air. The master knowing not what to do. Commands that the piano be closed. Translated by A. Z. Foreman. Il a suffi d'une note légère. D'un seul doigt frappée. Par un esclave tranquille. Une seule note un instant tenue. Pour que la clameur sourde des outrages. From The Caged Bea...
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Salamander Cove: January 2012
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Poetry from Here and There. 31 January, 2012. Learning to Paint Clouds. Consequently, when I am 80, I shall. Have got to the bottom of things. Now you are done with seeing things, begin. By setting down your name,. Forgetting everything you ever knew:. Those tints and tinctures that were never you,. The way by which you came,. Perfecting feather, flower, leaf, and fin. Erase the lines, but leave the shadows in,. With all that they contain;. Such lack of artifice was always true. All else is still within,.
