Saturday, June 20, 2009

More poems

Most Literate Letters

This beautiful day you've become your muscles--
Galloping across dandelions--then
Hard--harder--thighs grip your pelt's rip--till soul rolls
Right to the horizon--withers when

One looks again; and if I could I'd see
Sun glaze your withers goldsoft--but it's hard
To look at that dazzle for fear dear me
Will rip right off to a visage cartoon has starred;

I guess it's exactness has me wither
At what hardly ceases to astonish;
I take too much; I admire the giver
Who may flood--silt--soil--but not admonish;

Although it's true a withering address
May fix--the hard part's forever a mess.


1--The poem above is my first attempt at writing a Shakesperean sonnet which fits Helen Vendler's criterion, in which there must be at-least one word repeated in each stanza, and that then too is in the couplet as a "couplet tie"

Pretty Bell

A bell

Made of copper
With some
Straw stuck;

Honey-colored source
Of sound

Cements someone to
Their Vision
Is necessarily flighty.



In the gleam of an ivory eyelet
My power animal, my giraffe,
Smelled an overwhelming
Odor of violet.


The author of
The serious
Drama wondered
Why didn't
Anybody laugh
As if there are
No funny parts!


Her newly completed sleeve
All of hearts
Or the word for heart
In 12 or so languages
Makes her happy
So she buys
A carton of oranges at
A corner
Then 3 streets later
Realizes the fruit
Weighs a ton given
How many
More streets there are to go.


Human insides
Never rest;
Always making cells
And so forth;

When it comes
Down to it
Nothing ever rests:
Shimmer if only our

Touch weren't so far
Wide open--spice-
Petal starred portal;

Beauty is mortal:
Even mountains die;
Some day seasons
As known now will
Stop working;

Will swallows still wing
Their bodies to
San Juan Capistrano?
Will humans grow wings?
No we'll be breathless;

Perhaps deathless
Will become a
Human possibility;
Death is

I'd be very
Pleased to meet
An orca;
I'd say 'hey Uncle Sam'
After Elizabeth
Bishop's toucan!

Getting a tan
Sipping a colada
I'd be sublime;
The palm fronds
Clack like pelicans' beaks;

A freshening of rain falls--speaks
Rainbow like the salsa
Brightening my nibbles;
Being a president
Seems like it'd be embarrassing.

Currently Untitled

At the center of a whirling--the electrons--there is a godess;
Grain-colored locks wave about like foliage; her plaits
Are almost the shape of banana leaves; eye shadow the hue of
Newly sprouted grain lines brows plucked like a lute by
The hands of an expert player; the key to life
Is learning how to play the piano and desegregating;
I cannot touch the goddess--only pray--try to partake in the whirling.

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