Friday, July 24, 2020
Thursday, July 23, 2020
Wednesday, July 22, 2020
Tuesday, July 21, 2020
Monday, July 20, 2020
Sunday, July 19, 2020
Saturday, July 18, 2020
ALAN CASLINE ~
Where White Goose Goes
white goose, white goose
fly away home
John found white feathers
up creek
the farmer not home
white goose, white goose
swim for your nest
John found white feathers
down creek
beseeched the preacher
to bless
white goose, white goose
walk the road to the right
John found bloody feathers
evidentially a fight
white goose, white goose
take the left turning path
away from fox's footprints
and the hungry hunter's wrath
white goose, white goose
stay where you are
food, shelter, and friends
though some may find
the company bizarre
January 5, 2009
Voorheesvlle, New York
_______________________
Alan Casline
Summergreen
FootHills Publishing
2019
Friday, July 17, 2020
Thursday, July 16, 2020
POETRY IS ~
|
Wednesday, July 15, 2020
BORN WITH ~
Born With
My painting will have no surface.
You will enter it by light.
But the sheet of color seems still
the moment refracted sun
twirls cloud mass and the petals,
dapple accidents on crabapples'
wet black trunks. Light enters, richly,
cow-green fields a lake rises to meet.
There's no distance, sundown finches
wash our street in the song of rain.
In the shades there's no tomorrow
but we let it fall on us uncreated.
I have had a canvas but never a brush.
_________________
MICHAEL DALY
BORN WITH
DOS MADRES PRESS
2020
Tuesday, July 14, 2020
Monday, July 13, 2020
POETS WHO SLEEP # 7 ~
P O E T S W H O S L E E P
______________________
drawn & scribed by Bob Arnold
all drawings
copyright
Bob Arnold
Sunday, July 12, 2020
THE PEACOCK'S EGG ~
Deep in love
cheek leaning on cheek we talked
of whatever came to our minds
just as it came
slowly oh
slowly
with our arms twined
tightly around us
and the hours passed and we
did not know it
still talking
`
Love-hut of reeds hidden in
thicket
birds flying up from it
clatter of wings
young wife at her housework
hears it
feels all her limbs melt at once
`
Her eyes in sleep
afterward
her body my love
sounds she uttered then
without meaning
yet not meaningless
my heartbeat even now
echoing them
`
Neighbor please
keep an eye on my house
my husband says the water from the well
is tasteless
so even when I'm alone
I have to go into the forest
where the Tamala trees
shade the river-bank
and maybe the thick reeds
will leave marks on my body
`
My husband
before leaving on a journey
is still in the house speaking
to the gods and already
separation is climbing like
bad monkeys to the windows
`
When he comes back
to my arms
I'll make him feel
what nobody ever felt
everywhere
me
vanishing into him
like water
into the clay of a new jar
_________________________________
translated by W.S. Merwin
and J. Moussaieff Masson
Love poems from Ancient India
The Peacock's Egg
North Point Press 1981
Saturday, July 11, 2020
SUSAN BRIANTE ~
Yellow Finches Drop From A Plane Tree
Crosses of sunlight burn through the sugar maple
each afternoon in little crucifixions.
Blue-black lake like an 8-mm film,
its name means "hig winds"
in a language not spoken by local Indians.
How does a tree move when it is angry?
I want to be angry like that.
___________________
Susan Briante
Utopian Minus
Ahsahta Press
2011
Friday, July 10, 2020
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