Tag: poetry

Where the poem hides The binding cradles the pages—waiting to be filled. A postage stamp of Plutoglares from the corner, cancelled in an impossible year. Like a sculptor, I believethe medium can hold the art; the paper opens consulatesfor things that have no lobby. Study the lines and textures;the surface negotiates treaties with ink and … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Where the poem hides, v6. – an Absurd version – Italo Calvino style

Where the poem hides The binding cradles the pages—waiting to be filled. A pencil nickpricks the margin like a ridiculous wart. Like a sculptor, I believethe medium can hold the art;I tap, I shave, I whistle at my mistakes. Study the lines and textures;the surface is coy. The nick keeps secrets:a stub of an idea, … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Where the poem hides, v5. – a Comical, with a pencil nick version

Where the poem hides The binding cradles the pages—waiting to be filled. A coffee ringblooms at the margin, brown and patient. Like a sculptor, I believethe medium can hold the art;but stains are maps of small betrayals,old weather pressed into paper. Study the lines and textures;the surface keeps its secrets. The ring knowsthe lateness of … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Where the poem hides, v4. – a Darker, with a coffee ring version

Where the poem hides The binding cradles leaves of paper—a small, patient architecture.They wait for ink like ponds wait for rain. Like a sculptor I work by touch:press, subtract, fold—believing the mediumwill keep the shape I make. Study the lines — the grain, the seam, the thumbprint;the surface has its private weather. Only an impulse … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Where the poem hides, v3. – a more sensory and meditative version

The binding cradles the pages—waiting to be filled. Like a sculptor, I believethe medium can hold the art. Study the lines and textures;the surface keeps its secrets. Only impulse freesthe poem from the page.

Before I knew a God (a small cosmic report) Before I knew a god there was a river —not content with flowing, it kept minutes: payroll, ledger, current accounts.I leaned my ear to its transaction (it hummed in prime numbers),and the lark — hired that morning as a punctuation mark —sang a footnote so precise … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – I knew a God…, v7: An absurdist version – in the style of Italo Calvino’s Cosmicomics

Before I knew a god there was a river —its slow patience taught my feet the measure of water.I moved with that cadence, small and attentive;the lark’s first song fell into the hollow of listening. Before I knew a god there was a star,a patient light that kept no hurry with the dark.I leaned into … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – I knew a God…, v6: A meditative version

Before I knew a god there was a river —a muddled, polite thing that mislaid its oar.I drifted to its rhythm like a man to free coffee;the lark tried a solo and hit the wrong note spectacularly. Before I knew a god there was a star,a glittering gossip in the sky’s dressing room.I leaned close, … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – I knew a God…, v5: A comical version

Before I knew a god there was a river —not singing but pulling, a black lung drawing me down.I followed that current like a confession;the lark answered like something that remembers falling. Before I knew a god there was a star,a frost-scribed page in the throat of night.I read the margin until the ink bled … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – I knew a God…, v4: A darker version