Tag: poetry

Orange man, orange man — where do you go?To podiums that smell of new paint and glow. Orange man, orange man — what do you do?I wrap debt in ribbon, sign it, and call it truth. Orange man, orange man — why do we live?To clap at the echo that keeps the poor on the … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Orange Man”, v.6 (a political narrative😉😉)

Orange man, orange man — where do you go?To the podium downtown, where spotlights lay him low. Orange man, orange man — what do you do?I stack my name in steel and glass, sell certainty like glue. Orange man, orange man — why do we live?To fill the seats, to hold the roar — to … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Orange Man”, v.5 (a more political narrative😉😉)

Orange man, orange man — where do you go?I go with my girl, to dinner and a show. Orange man, orange man — what work do you do?I am a cobbler by trade: I mend every shoe. Orange man, orange man — why do we live?To share what we have — love and laughter to … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Orange Man”, v.4

Orange man, orange man — where do you go?I slip into the evening like a warmed coin, to dinner, to the picture house where reels are slow. Orange man, orange man — what do you do?I stitch small salvations at my bench: a tongue of leather, a stubborn nail, the map of a sole. Orange … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Orange Man”, v.3

Orange man — where do you go at dusk?To the chip shop, to the cinema with my woman. Orange man — what do you mend?Leather at the bench: heel, stitch, the hollow. Orange man — why do we stay alive?To pass the good things on: bread, a half-smile, a repaired sole. Orange man — how … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – “Orange Man”, v.2

I am smoke. Born at the ember’s edge — pyrolysis of leaf and fibre —a thin life of rising carbon and heat.I press against warm darkness, a pocket of soot and vapour,a particulate world cradled in solid matter. Light finds me. Lips close like twin petals; a clap, a seal.A spark cracks — combustion — … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Life of a Smoke, v.4

I was born in a pocket of night — a small, safe darkthat felt like forever. Movement told me I existed:warm, resistant matter folded close on every side. Then a sudden white light found me. Fingers, large and soft,closed too firmly; I slid between two warm plains that shut like petals. A spark cracked the … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Life of a Smoke, v.3

I lie in the dark that feels like forever.I know I am because movement answers me,solid matter pressing all around. Sudden light. Hands take me—a hard, soft squeeze. I slipbetween two warm surfaces that close. A sharp crack, a white flash; it comes close,then touches. Air rips through me.I burn. Energy becomes pain when the … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Life of a Smoke, v.2

Have you read Irving Layton—so loud they praise him?They say he’s fantastic, yet what lingers is small: his smile,an imprint on the mind like a detached fly-wing—a pale shard of motion, exact and obscene. Have you listened to Whitman, the city’s long breath?Do you find him lavish—spilling clauses like summer light? Have you read Rod … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Have you read the poet?, V.4

Have you read Irving Layton?They say he’s fantastic—but only his smile leaves marks,like a detached fly-wing: small, precise, obscene. Have you listened to Whitman?Do you find him lavish with his breath? Have you read Rod McKuen?They say he moves crowds,but only with a single-minded achefor men and women—like a moth circling a candle: predictable, hungry. … Continue reading Revisionist Poetry – Have you read the poet?, V.3