You May Now
This is the jazz
and this is the style,
and her heart warms over.
These are the babes
you walk country mile,
stubbing your toes in stirrups.
These are some caballeros,
and these mugs mouthing bratwursts,
all cold and color
Which would you choose to be?
What would you do?
See sexy gathering hoo-loo,
implements are in your hand
like frozen daggers,
as if you had enough,
enough soft touch.
But the weather warms over,
pain is not frightening,
it is emblem
of touching confusions
and it betters your trusting
like sallow in the pitch and press.
Say Shakespeare’s love is a madness,
so is the world of fear,
and so it is time to quit.
Olives and petals, preen-buds
widen their hips in harvestthrashing, a cusp
of felt-clear loosens.
A sticking in bosom,
this is rotten, the articles
are not cool on leaf’s trips
peeling to scatter off the ground;
look your sorry ass around,
take these steps,
wiggle your carcass a bit
like a darling fool,
and the bitter, the stammer,
comes a buck, clock
clucks, you may now take
it away, you may bay the yips,
for now and for after.
Hey, you may now catch on!
Hey, little pigeon!
Hey, little form
of the munching ball, shook
like the darling buds in May,
little boom, you may now pasture.
Penitent in better world
Schubert, next day, thoughts and thoughts: Thursday
afternoon, September 6, 2007
A contemplating, feeling feeling the next morning, at
home, on way, at workplace
Edits and add six lines to end: Friday, September 7, 2007
Would That I Knew
A shackledaisy is a kind of creature,
and I knew once, blew through it.
Harvest poppygolds and stretched sliced worms
of fig-n-plum’s teeth, would that I knew.
I resisted crawlers for hawk-nosed
turpentine relievers, I came into
the collection-plate hand-around.
Bad were the boys made a puny sound
when they were birched, so I scared
for lake, tread the perch-bones.
Now is life like hungry scones,
on the mouth of mist;
and scissors in whippoorwill who struggles
last some year through.
Or I wish I had the time.
Or I wish I had the call to clear you
for mingling with invertebrates,
and tasty lumps where sand-hips screw and
call too, My Luminous.
Will the balls of yarn of tip-toe come
awaiting, rooks doubled the staking,
coffers over, trying out last night,
bedeviled of wind with its fat besom?
On the outer-edge schoolroom
will you note the fine-tingly gestures?
By their thoughts will you aim,
throats up, down, capture diddles?
Inspired by Robert Bly’s “Morning Poems”
not in the morning
5:09 p.m., Sunday, April 15, 2007
Change with title arranging day, maybe St. Mark’s
later: 2:12 p.m., Monday, April 16, 2007
Going back from college class reunion on Metro-North
Saturday night, June 2, 2007
“fat besom,” other changes on smoky subway platform and in
mid-day, Monday, January 28, 2008