Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Charlotte

She doesn't look like
her photograph: the same sadness,
but missing the imprisoned signalling,
small gestures of window waving
like a little girl locked in her room.

Here in the flesh she seems
not brave enough,
sunk, absent, soft lace and worn calico
replaced with khaki and denim.

How do people get so stuck in dutiful detail?
Where do their minutes go
spent without mischief or magic?
Is it low calorie un-nutritious love,
group hugs and suspicion, shivering in the cold?

Monday, September 29, 2008

Rosh Hashana Dream after Seeing "Schindler's List"

The workers in brown uniforms
stack the fur coats around me
until I feel
I'm drowning in them.

We are on a hill.
The clouds
are standing on their edges
like something went wrong

with the horizontal hold
control of the planet. The naked
parts of the sky are gray.
The wind drives particles of ice.



l'shanah tovah

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

A Last try

She tries to be selfish,
owes herself a bit of that,
looks around for something.

Doors here are closed,
backs turned,
nothing even to mooch.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

A New Lady

Elegant, she asks me if
I like to dance.
I feel awkward
and move away.

Visitor? No I live here.
She tries to talk to me person to person,
but the place has a hook in her flesh.
I can just glimpse the wound.

I don't know what
to do with the wounded.
I think they are
in limbo,

slipped outside the boundary
of free life.
It's especially hard
with the fresh ones.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The Last Few days of Summer

Especially noisy today.
Tires hard on concrete.
Siren. Disk crash.
Even the geese yawp
in the sky.

Sun lies to me
about the joy of light.
Woman tears herself
apart on the street.
Wind drives the sand.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Diane Recapitulated

So heavy
when she lifts herself
from the electric
legs into a flesh and blood chair.

"This damn corpus," came
into my mind from hers. But then
her face opened at the corners of her broad mouth,
like a deep Irish red-head.

And she could dance
memories of Diane
next door in our Pennsylvania days,
before we found paradise.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

The Binding

A little plain,
she, dwarfed and he
dark and hungry,
as they cling together, arm
over shoulder and hand on knee.


Her finger nails,
black and curled
like little claws
are not groomed well.


But somewhere
at the end of of this night ride
past the bright streets
there is a place
where life goes by
with all its delicious
habits amid their own
fragrance.

On Reading a good Poet

Can I share
the eye of God with him?
His words dance, sliding
they take him. He follows
flying, wings tilt and balance
in the eye-time space
to the beat of a silent tom tom.

I walk, stumbling,
with the rhythm of the
gimp. I lead
dumb words with chicken legs.
They would never
fly by themselves. Can I
share the eye of God with him?
God won't look at all.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

The Critic

They strut
in their blue lace
impressing each other
while the author
has long since
left the room.

The Critic II

Old Ejaw spreads himself over a rock in the sun
knowing I see him celebrating his luck.
A sardonic smile he smiles,

looking around, taunting and fearing.
while most of us float
half suffocating in passing currents,

Ejaw inflates, surveys
the number of watchers
still alive.