Tag: poetry

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.

When a dally dillies it's quite common, or not,for flowers to wiltwhen the staring cowcurls its tongue and times the moon. it learned to count the slow ticksbetween the moon's breaths —one eye fixed on sorrow's hour,the other blinking the sun away. its counting unlaces the stems' hold on dew:each tick lifts a thread of … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – When A Dally Dillies, v.5 – causalities