Posts for June 4, 2016 (page 2)

                                      What the Water Contains

Movement,
circles that spiral out,
a never-still shimmer,
alive somehow.

Reflections
of what flies above
pink clouds,
ibis flapping.

One microburst
   and one newly polished ring.
Two kisses
   two bunches of young carrots.
Three warmest hugs
   three quarts of the sweetest strawberries so far, and these are the last.

Oh, no need for tedium. Skip forward:
   At least a dozen easy talks, untold topics: coffee, busted knee, food volunteers, Hap,
   Portugal, writing, poems, New Zealand, babies, beef shoulder, Morris Book Shop,
   shallot scapes, Hot Water Cornbread radio, cholesterol, tractor wizards, farmer 
   food, Medicare, “Give me another loaf of that damn bread,” golden oyster  
   mushrooms, maiden names, Katerina, yoga, Brandywine Sudduth, “got my own
   inside-out version of ‘Stormy Weather’.”

                   – Frank O’Hara   1953

a white one starched
flat, square, addressing every
corner of my needs.

          for Muhammad Ali

Death came
like the thief
of a fight

and laid out
our Champion
with a final
loaded right,

there’s a great
keening
in Kentucky,
a gnashing
of teeth,

and the poets
have nothing to say,
paper’s turned
to clay,

words float,
butterflies
in a ring,
but sting,

bees
consuming the Spring.

I was young once
running hard
as soon as my feet hit the ground.
Now I look in the mirror
and the lines on my forehead surprise me.
Crow’s feet I was expecting
or maybe smile lines
if I was lucky
but I suspect that whenever it was
the lines showed up
something else left—
the part of me that could sleep all night
the part of me that preferred
a cold beer or a whiskey shot
over coffee
and lived hard—
the part of me without you.

The tunnel so dark,
thoughts
attack my skin
with tiny pitchforks
The corset squeezes,
smothers my breathing
with each commanding tug.
How did I get here?

Light so bright,
focusing my squinted eyes
takes a minute
His hand grips mine,
calms my flutter
as we watch
her walk
How did she get here?

A miracle so ordinary
Still, hers
covers me with fright
and delight
Her tassel leaps
to the other side
Here–
everyday mundane
and mystery converge

Whatever may be
after the applause,
may all be wonderful
but let all be well.

A justice fighter you were to me
To follow your faith is all you see
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee
Rest in peace, Muhammad Ali

(1942-2016)

“I smell pizza!” I said,
And my coworkers all looked at me weird,
Eyebrows raised as if the aroma
Didn’t permeate the air as a best friend
To the oxygen we know and love.

And I thought,
How does no one smell that?
The cheesy goodness
Slathered in marinara heaven
With puffy, stuffed-crust bread
Drawing an appetite
Like a siren of unhealthiness.
Oh, Papa!

Of course
No such pizza existed
Immediately available for hungry fingers
Holding the slice straight
Like a paper airplane
On my landing strip tongue,
That pristine pizza point
Connecting dots of deliciousness on my taste buds.
I’ll have to order one later.

When it’s delivered
I’ll be at the door
Long before the bell can be rung
Trading cold hard inedible cash
For round culinary perfection.
Placing a hand under the box
The heat matches my desire
And I take a big whiff.

Only then do I figure it out.
Delivered pizza comes in a box
Which survives the meal.
Boxes are made of cardboard.
There was an empty cardboard box back at work.
Somewhere over all these years
A misguided synapse connected those smells
Which is why everyone was looking at me weird earlier
Because I’m the only guy I know
Smelling a box and thinking pizza
And now I’m eating pizza.

Yeah,
Pavlov has me figured out
In the diameter of a pepperoni.

a new place

whippoorwill wakes us

silver shrill

of a blue jay’s flute beckons

us into some other world

Periphery of an ineffable frame
art unwitnessed, unobserved
A point of desperation 
our essence forever pulled away

As to make escape, but a dream
searching for the horizon unseen
Approaching a vision incomplete 
blindly following a broken path

The traveling sleepwalker 
suspended in consciousness
Never privy to the gravity 
of the moment