She never! She did! Well blow me A right carry-on What a palaver It’s always something More out than in so they say You could have knocked me down with a feather Well I should say so …
Category: My Poetry
Verse and worse by me
Night Fog
Some left over words from another post and borrowed words not exactly put to music. Boundaries blur. The streetlamp a smudge. Steps behind you muffled. Stop. When you stop. The roots that clutch. Do they follow? Who is the figure in the window, watching? Nerves are bad tonight, yes bad. Just the street and the fog that dissolves and distorts.…
For When It Snows Part Two
Rain is no respecter of persons the snow doesn’t give a soft white damn Whom it touches -e.e. cummings, Viva, 27 51 Kinds of Snow 1. Zen-blissed Buddha snow silent, soft, fat flakes. 2. Born-again snow that melts into the baltering mountain torrent to baptize the redeemed of the river plains. 3.Episcopal surplice snow, of choirs and choristers. 4. Modest Methodist…
An Invitation
What use is poetry? …. We have poetry So we do not die of history. – Meena Alexander I like poems you can tack all over with a hammer and there are no hollow places. – John Ashbery An Invitation to Poetry Come on in. Jump! You can do it. It belongs to you too. Paddle, splash about, swim, dive,…
Poem [Lana Turner has collapsed!]
There’s a story behind every poem. There’s always a story. And the story behind this one is that the poet – Frank O’Hara – was on his way to Staten Island where he was to give a reading with Robert Lowell at Wagner College. It was February 1962 and the weather was nasty. O’Hara picked up a newspaper to read on…
About Those Daffodils
So there I was, wandering about, Strolling the gardens, minding my own business The way one does on an April afternoon Unencumbered by seder or service, Thinking random simple thoughts *** About the world and its ways. A frog at the margin, sitting tight. A goose honked. Flowers peeping by the stones, Buds bursting out and whatnot. Then … suddenly…