On television, war, murder,
scent of clematis
spawning ~ rippling reflections on stone
hoping for one
this perfect day
cling to spring
how i miss you
yesterday open-toed sandals
and opening tulips old lovers
come to me in dreams this morning
fresh snow whitening the mountains
coats and winter boots retired too soon
the paper tells me bull trout and cutthroats
will find more water flowing through
the losing reach between the mainstem river
and spawning gravels green exploding
skies above Iraq elderly ladies show off
their May-Day hats plasticly enflowered
and a noted scientist provocateur is remembered
as a nucleus of dissension are there rivers
are there tulips in Fallujah, in Najaf?
Dim, humid day. Ominous.
The car won't start. The sweet
autumn clematis did not survive
winter. Bruising photographs,
naked prisoners hooded and taunted
by pretty young soldiers. Full moon
over Mount Sentinel; the garden rich
with scent, palpable, tangible. Two
sparrows dance on the wood fence,
much cheeping and tail-fanning.
A friend tells me we are all sadists,
all carnivores. The bleeding heart
goes on blooming in its shaded bed.
at the altar
an old woman
Note: I haven't put the extended poem here, but it's up at Sharon's blog. http://sbpoet.com
The car won't start
and the toilet keeps
running. The parakeet
died. White fur all along
the river- bank, but no
blood, no bones. Broken
limbs glasses. Garden
with petals of lilac,
black bird ravishes
the feeder. Shrill
whistles and ravenish
clunks. Dark rising
river, muddy, foaming.
write a snapshot
a week of grief
and broken things
but then the moon
filled out round
& this bright
something like that blue
cloud, thunder rolling
through our valley, hail
in the flower beds, or this
lukewarm tea in the Chinese
mug on the brass table --
something like this sun
or this gnat on the page,
scents of solomon seal
and cigarette smoke entwining
in the garden, wind rustling
the birches --
something like the neighbor's
dog barking at the noisy pickup
and rap music from a radio,
somewhere -- black pavement
gleaming after rain, something
like that -- this solitary life
the sun is out
but it's out there
and I'm in here
bills piled high
on the glass table
the rose unfurls
day after day
it opens itself
pale petals gold
heart to the sun
to the worm
the longest day
into the dark
is lost or
won't start or
has no brakes
even the foxgloves
they said the trees
might fall and take
the dike down with them
all the willows, the birches
even the ancient cottonwood
young eagle's perch
gone from the river
The Neighbors Debate
When discovered by the social worker,
the yellow rabbit was nibbling blooming
dandelions, violets and clover
on the neighbor's lawn. The growly, circling
cats did not disturb it. The rabbit hopped
up to the cats and touched twitchy noses.
The cats dashed, lickety-split, and dropped
into hunting-jungle-tiger poses.
The neighbors schemed. Chased & caught & caged,
unperturbed, the rabbit washed its face.
The prison guard said "Let it go." "Not wild,"
the social worker warned. "And think, the child
who lost it, crying all night," the day-care
worker sighed. The rabbit combed its hair.
-- Sharon Brogan
Poetryetc is a listserv relating to poetry and poetics which provides a forum for poets to debate their critical and creative work. The list has over the years run a number of projects for its members, of which Snapshots has been the most enduring.
Every Wednesday, Poetryetc members were invited to post short poems on any subject or in any form they chose. The idea was to make a poetic collage of instamatic snaps of that day that reflected the international membership of the list. The project has generated an astounding number of poems.
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