Tag: poetry

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

Before I knew a god there was a river,its pulse a promise. I moved toward that cadence;the lark took the promise in its throatand gave me a first, clear song.Before I knew a god there was a star,spilling small iron-lit pages across the dark.I read until the night turned colour —no hand stopped me from … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – I knew a God…, v3: A more narrative version

I knew a God…Some river before me —I followed its slow rhythm,as if to tell me it might happen:the lark sang its first song.Some star before me —I leaned into the glitter;no one stopped me from seeingthe last, most colourful page.Some rose before me —I turned toward the aroma,with only fate left to pluckthe first … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – I knew a God…, v2

Copernicus Wiffledown was much admired—a well-to-do gentleman with a bulging pouchlike a squirrel’s briefcase, stuffed with oddments:a clock that ran backwards for sentimental people,a rubber chicken for emergencies, a mitten with a pocket,and tins of biscuits stamped “For Immediate Surprise.” They called him the Christmas-Day Scrooge—not for stinginess but for his solemn inventory:he kept a … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – The Lay of Copernicus Wiffledown (comedic), v.4

Copernicus Wiffledown was much admired—a well-to-do gentleman who kept a pouchof wrapped surprises beneath his coat:a mitten for a red-nosed passerby,a loaf slipped through a shuttered window,a bright tin soldier for a child who’d lost one. They called him the Christmas-Day Scrooge—not because he grudged, but because he counted:each gift catalogued, each ribbon given a … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – The Lay of Copernicus Wiffledown (finished), v.3

I’m down — I keep them close:my favorite pessimists, bedside friends,Kurt’s sharp laugh, Rod’s exposed heart.I study their habits to learn how not to break. love of others,love of self:I admit I confuse the two,give away my warmth and keep the ache,each misdirected like a misaddressed letter. I’m up sometimes,not by bravado but by accident,lifted … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – As I read this, v.5 – (intimate mood)

I am downwith late-afternoon companions:Vonnegut in the small rooms of irony,McKuen with paper moons in his hands. love of others,love of selfhang together like a last scarf,intertwined, misdirected,folded over the silence. I rise — for a moment —only to the wishof clouds, slow and gone,holding the shape of absence.

I’m down —members-only club:Kurt (deadpan martini),Rod (velvet-valentine).They pass out pessimism like party favours. love of others,love of self:both placed on the buffet —someone mislabeled the plates,someone ate the wrong dessert. I’m up!(brief stage light)only to the wishof clouds — RSVP: maybe.

I’m down with chosen company:a wry one, a velvet one —Kurt Vonnegut,Rod McKuen.love of others,love of selftangle like scarvesthrown on a chair —intertwined, misdirected.I’m up, for a moment,lifted only to the wishof clouds and the smallcold of a window.