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Thursday, October 7, 2010

Some Wyeth illustrations and two poems


The pink reminders of the evening

Have gathered themselves into the corners

Where the light has its own agenda.

The cornfields in their ranks and files

Start their parades delving into the mysteries

As they spiral upwards into fractals

Worshipped like the poor will objects able

To be possessed. We skate among them

Challenged by our wrong intentions, crashed

Into by dreams and ransacked by the arrogance

The mind handles to confuse us with lucid

Moments that defy time, leaving us on

The edge of our beds at three or four

A m trembling and unable to put the body

To rest again so that we may mount

the pastel boats of the nights flickering

Ships and use them as the vehicles

We need to consume the far shore

And ride home again, more or less

Complete upon waking and filled

With tales the night has told morning

Even as it steals from its bower fading

As it does so, convincing in its

Description of foolish wisdom.


In the blood of evening we wade

Through the moments listening for thunder,

Something we can rely on before we wash

Our legs to get ready for the night.

I do not understand why we continue

To reach for one another but I do

Participate. Perhaps it is for the feel

A hand might might have touching near the heart,

Asking a forgiveness that is non-specific

But well meant, wanting something to be

Done before the whole place becomes

Dark and we stumble from one pool

Of light to another never sure our direction

Is correct or even necessary, Before

It gets too dark to see your eyes

Before me. Perhaps we will be in love.

Perhaps we will find a doorway for a

Moment, crouch there and begin to relate

Stories to each other as if it were

Important for us to hear them.

I will tell you how I came here

Across the wine dark sea of ancient

Time and found myself just outside the city

At this time of day, traveling with

the others past the dim orchards,

Seeing the fires on the horizon, hoping

Rest would be full of peace, quiet

Song and the precious company

And comfort one might find here.

It seems a long way to travel

To find only the bloody failing

the light is intent on illuminating.

We begin to call to one another,

Softly at first, then louder

Always trying to make the new

Distinctive, luxurious to discuss

And comely in its transformation,

Its shading, its interlocked devices,

Our commerce in its patterns, always new,

Always skillful, filled with a fragrance

Unbound by the finality of daylight,

Praying we may never be so totally alone.

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