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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535712" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Two Poems, Remembering Barnardsville Days, Blue Ridge Mountains, North Carolina</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Uses For Wings - Variations From 'We Can Be Broken' & Other Discarded Poems</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It means so much that we can be broken.' - from an early poem,1978</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for Tien Ho, departed, <br>and Michael carving <br>the empty space<br>of her leaving still</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>*</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here is a Presence beyond<br>illicit fires bearing witness<br>to evidence, remains of flight, <br>contrived escapes blocked by panes, <br>walls striped in ramming panic, <br>of ritual and a broken neck, <br>petrified wings placed in open<br>spaces they once could range.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>*</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I began</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>a bird flown down a chimney<br>dying in an empty house, <br>a hidden mountain valley, <br>night time fires upon surrounding<br>hills, moonshine stills signaling<br>flame warnings, bootleggers' silent<br>spirits conjuring drip by drip<br>metal and grain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>*</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here are uses for wings: </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>something returning, <br>or turning inward</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>eventually climbed, <br>rested upon, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>or fallen to some chimney life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>*</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Descending the hill in unplanned rehearsal, <br>what has become a destined association, <br>our mutual confession is invisibly drawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A ruined one-room church appears, <br>a cemetery plot weed-hidden behind this<br>once sentinel house long remote to men, <br>as present as God. My own presence is bound<br>to his who stands confounded now as three, <br>one above grave, one within it, and me<br>in between, one eye upon him, the other<br>upon sagging dirt where bones and a<br>ragged shirt share an unexpected<br>moment of veils confused in sunlight's<br>disarray of leaves, wood, of stone and<br>shadows frozen there, not breathing<br>for us all in unstoried astonishment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here horseflies feast.<br>Upon weathered stones<br>are only creases for once were<br>names, dates, even God's Word, <br>chiseled by a now unknown hand, <br>an impression only, one among many, <br>reduced to no plot but that of Providence<br>left to surmise swatting at Eucharistic<br>flies proving only flesh and only blood, <br>a flood of questions eventually exhaled, <br>and exhaling still, waiting beside<br>a white rock with wings, <br>ignoring fires, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">leaning into changes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What Is Revealed Side-By-Side</div><div style="margin:10px 0">....recalling Barnardsville days <br>in the Blue Ridge, North Carolina</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Silent, side-by-side, reading.<br>An occasional 'hear this then. '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Read aloud, words, bread, jam; <br>familiar tarnished knives spreading; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">wedding set, grandmother's, all hands<br>forget intent on feeding, reading to each<br>gathered mouth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heads nod agreement.<br>Backs of hands and books<br>as napkins. Smiles all<br>around.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>2 - What Is Read Out Loud</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beneath witnessed wheels<br>dancing stars gather stones at dusk, <br>pockets fill climbing World Tree to</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>apogee</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>then downward turn, <br>stones flung low to dawn, <br>that largest sun stumbles<br>alone to blue, screaming, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I WANT A WOMAN</div><div style="margin:10px 0">heat enough to reveal morning's dove-blind croon, <br>burnt crow, having no use for light, missing<br>a leg, perches hard against solar winds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sun's call, different as bird and star, discloses.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>3</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What is revealed: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">the mouse in the hole who loves the hole.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">how the serpent's tail shimmers when tossed<br>out the door -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">BE GONE</div><div style="margin:10px 0">how one has learned to shake the sheet, <br>the pants, the socks, the heel-worn boots<br>before the getting-into, the putting on, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">for even a snake loves a warm bed, <br>a pillow for its head - found once a<br>skin shed on my flower patterned<br>pillowcase, fleecy lambs forever silently<br>bleat as the cloth thins slowly slowly<br>from head wear, dream wear</div><div style="margin:10px 0">because I was once a sleeping man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a><div class=q>
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Uses For Wings - Variations From 'We Can Be Broken' & Other Discarded Poems

'It means so much that we can be broken.' - from an early poem,1978

for Tien Ho, departed, 
and Michael carving 
the empty space
of her leaving still

 
*

Here is a ..."></div>
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