Still Life With Coffee Can, Father, River, Bell, Mouse, Lover Fled
[poet's note to the reader:
read the 'x's' as the word
'times' as in multiplication]
This
just to
reintroduce some
levity
for we (loves)
were many day-ed
x merry
we merrily played
harming no one,
not even the
mouse unmoved
perhaps, watching
perhaps, still,
still, from beneath
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness
x 1 too many breaths
exchanged, groped
x many ropes all our
wanting
I stand behind
them the curtained
dancer entranced
entered into/
upon a mystery
how one could
be so, well,
swell, so
marvelous &
so cruel upon
one silver stem
hangs the metal
tin top jags
tears at
memory edge
opens facts
now you, love
are new memory
hands emptier
sensitive finger-
tips filigreed
prints your
body hairs
sifted imprinted
touching softly
x all the x's
here accounted
for, listed,
besos as kisses
scribbles, notes,
letters,
no matter
the black or
blue tide
of thee
O lover
what
slips out
ebbs black
back into lapis
lapses into what
self is
uttered/poured,
scored trans-
parent upon
surfaces
faces which are
even eyes which
now glaze with
love/loss
beside the flue
glaze upon the
pane
black
mouse remains
stays,
is many,
a multitude
of petals
x 3
the jasmine
unspurned
at last
at last/least
O return
soft Junes
the lips of
which are
sometimes
pink, of
lavender
swollen, as if
to kiss
x memory
x 3
the antinomies
a string
of pearls
anemones
& thee O lover
bring all them
back, so many,
to me now
memory
torques
into soft
teas
June
steeps
turns
steaming
said window
(and torsos)
said prints
views obscured
of nothing
in particular
or special,
but
troubles,
troubles only
of passing birds
enamored-of
(their lighter
bones)
or
are they
cloud and shadow,
merely the steep
sun declining ashen
into New Jersey?
occluded
silhouettes
contra ils
glyphs &
Maxwell House sign
'Good To The Last Drop'
familiar
cup for decades
tipped
tips &
one
(out-spilled)
drop
x 0 suspends
O suspends trembling
reflected in the water
river made of the many
countless drops
x (again) infinity
x (surprised) my
father there
(memento mori)
opening the
can all blue with
the same cup tilted
spilling that dark
brown dropp imprinted
x (the
dove,
to recall,
brown, shaped like
said drop, now
flown, or)
finally
spilled into water,
river currents
downward, to bottom
pulled sort/sift
my father always
complaining of grift,
a weather man by trade,
a cloud man once a
pilotWW2 drifting
often since enough
into sky
he turns
the silver opener
butterflied
round and round
with effort his
arthritic com-
plaints upon the
ridged silver top
of the can blue
with coffee
'course grind'
the better to drip
with within that
satisfying hiss
compacted air
hissing out
from compression
now released
the smell
then of coffee
fresh not yet
brewed in the
kitchen
the twist of
the edge jagged
silver metal
carefully turned
with fingers to
break the remain-
ing stem of metal
holding the round
to the can entire
unsealed now try
without spilling
the grounds
out
x at least 100 thousand
to guess having no
acumen with numbers
and math but father's
over
there in the cup tilted
over
spilling into
o endlessly
it's seams,
it seems from
river bank
into memory
which is,
already
over-said
overheard
redundantly
as river
and time,
this one
now recalled
to mind,
dad
dad
the cloud drift
and the flows
the tides beside
the city
(both sides)
is as ancient
as it always was
& is
as 'in the beginning
was darkness over deep
water & a word, '
any word really
would do it,
form
something
out of deep,
of dark,
of water
which shapes
itself only
by outer
circumstance
in this case
a word
leading up to
this -
Palisades cliffs
above bridge
allude perhaps
to river at
city's start
up from water
the silver bay
capped, remembering
centuries' frigates
x countless
ferries torn
and Tories be-
tween seas
wars
vast to
the east
x duplicating
waves, stretches
the narrows
the necks with
rocks strewn,
the lonely buoyless
waves over depths
their vespers
intone
once was laughter
spent
seeking out
between bodies
continents
valleys eternally
shifting eluding
rapture
x 1 whisper
contraction
of sentinel
bells against
each of each
reaching
x 2,
the clappers
x 20,000
(of bells
anatomy there
is much to
say
(of the
elements,
zinc, copper,
tin, & more
while not for-
getting brass
more commonly
used)
of infusion
into cuppolas
the beating
the shaping
heat also to
be given account
amounts much into
bells conformed
gracefully out
in the end,
but only
as metal,
sharp tongues
blunted can of
bells then speak
tonally only
overtones inviolate
in violent swings
side to side the
hard knock shocks
into quakes into
belfry beyond
dance of iron
bronze overtaking
& annunciate
round of hammers)
so many dawns
x so many goings
down of the sun
x fortune the lips
x myriad ones gone
before of murmurers
O lover
of thee
I adore
in timbre
thru the
window rings
(the bells)
the arms
of which
too
wring out
breath to
breath
x no more
embraces
into indolence
This
(yet)
again
(late
offering)
just to
reintroduce some
levity
for we
(loves)
were many day-ed
x merry we
merrily played
harming no one,
not even the
mouse unmoved
perhaps, watching
perhaps, still,
still, from beneath
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Scroll For New York City - A Son To His Sums of Eros & Father, Oh! & The River
memory
torques
into soft
teas
June
steeps
turns
steaming
said window
(and torsos)
said prints
views obscured
of nothing
in particular
or special,
but
troubles,
troubles only
of passing birds
enamored-of
(their lighter
bones)
or
are they
cloud and shadow,
merely the steep
sun declining ashen
into New Jersey?
occluded
silhouettes
contrails
glyphs &
Maxwell House sign
'Good To The Last Drop'
the familiar
cup for decades
tipped
tips &
one
(out-spilled)
drop
x 0 suspends
o suspends trembling
reflected in the water
river made of the many
countless drops
x (again) infinity
x (surprised) my
father there
(memento mori)
opening the
can all blue with
the same cup tilted
spilling that dark
brown dropp imprinted
x (the
dove, to recall,
brown, shaped like
said drop, now
flown, or) finally
spilled into water,
river currents
downward, to bottom
pulled sort/sift
my father always
complaining of grift,
a weather man by trade,
a cloud man once a pilot
WW2 drifting often since
enough into sky,
he turns
the silver opener
butterflied
round and round
with effort his
arthritic com-
plaints upon the
ridged silver top
of the can blue
with coffee
'course grind'
the better to drip
with within that
satisfying hiss
compacted air
hissing out
from compression
now released
the smell
then of coffee
fresh not yet
brewed in the
kitchen
the twist of
the edge jagged
silver metal
carefully turned
with fingers to
break the remain-
ing stem of metal
holding the round
to the can entire
unsealed now try
without spilling
the grounds
out
x at least 100 thousand
to guess having no
acumen with numbers
and math but father's
over
there in the cup tilted
over
spilling into
o endlessly
it's seams, it seems
from river bank
into memory which
is, already
over-said
overheard redundantly
as river
and time,
this one
now recalled
to Mind, dad,
dad
the cloud drift
and the flows
the tides beside
the city
both sides
is as ancient
as it always was
& is
as in the beginning
was darkness over deep
water & a word, any word
really would do it,
form something
out of deep, of
dark, of water
which shapes it-
self only by outer
circumstance,
in this case
a word
leading up to
this -
Palisades cliffs
above bridge tilt
toward, always,
currents,
the river
over-
flows north-
wards
tides rare defy-
ing the moon
that other pull,
you
live the other
side of
sand
the palm sewn
swaying adhered
to Mind
x 1
still, to pass the
time now
x 1
the sooty hand
x 1
over black
'mouth'
or word
allude perhaps
to river's at
city's start
up from water
the silver bay
capped, remembering
frigates
x countless
ferries torn
and Tories be-
tween seas
wars
vast to
the east
x duplicating
waves, stretches
the narrows,
the necks with
rocks strewn,
the lonely buoyless
waves over depths
their vespers
intone
once was laughter
spent
seeking out
between bodies
continents
valleys eternally
shifting eluding
rapture
x 1
whisper
contraction
of sentinel
bells against
each of each
reaching
x 2, the clappers
x 20,000
(of bells
anatomy there
is much to
say
(of the
elements,
zinc, copper,
tin, & more
while not for-
getting brass
more commonly
used)
of infusion
into cuppolas
the beating
the shaping
heat also to
be given account
amounts much into
bells conformed
gracefully out
in the end,
but only
as metal,
sharp tongues
blunted can of
bells then speak
tonally only
overtones inviolate
in violent swings
side to side the
hard knock shocks
into, quake into
belfry beyond
dance of iron
bronze overtaking
&
annunciant round
of hammers)
so many dawns
x so many goings
down of the sun
x fortune the lips
x myriad ones gone
before of murmurers
O lover
of thee
I adore
in timbre
thru the
window rings
the arms too
wring out
breath to
breath
x no more
embraces
into indolence
This, just to
reintroduce some
levity
for we (loves)
were many day-ed
x merry
we merrily played
harming no one,
not even the
mouse unmoved
perhaps, watching
perhaps, still,
still, from beneath
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness
x 1 too many breaths
exchanged, groped
x many ropes all our
wanting
father loves
with his cup
his pipe songs
of love
of love will
he dance between
the violent fasts
from love,
our mother, with,
fast around around
& around the danced
living room
phonograph brass
loud plays
where June
curtains sway
me and Mr. Miller
(Glenn)
I stand behind
them the curtained
dancer entranced
entered into/
upon a mystery
how one could
be so, well,
swell, so
marvelous &
so cruel, (upon
one silver stem
hangs the metal
tin top jags
tears at
memory edge
opens facts
FACT
that there was love,
there was love after
all
I can see
it smell it
feel it there
dancing round
the living
one dropp Mr.
Maxwell holds,
hold on to &
upon goodness
brown pulled
from below down
& dark into deep
such this is
the riddle it is
all now become
since you
departed, love
since you
departed I shall
count backward by
3's then by 4's
these father
memories
torquing
the
door which once
embraced you now
never lets you
go
x brooms
or releases
now you, love
are new memory
hands emptier
sensitive finger-
tips filligreed
prints your
body hairs
sifted imprinted
touching softly
x all the x's
here accounted
for, listed,
besos as kisses
scribbles, notes,
letters,
no matter
the black or
blue tide
of thee
O lover
what
slips out
ebbs black
back into lapis
lapses into what
self is
uttered/poured,
scored trans-
parent upon
surfaces
faces which are
even
eyes which now
glaze with love/
loss
beside the flue
glaze upon the
pane
the black
mouse remains
stays,
is many,
a multitude
of petals
x 3
the jasmine
unspurned
at last
at last/least
O return
soft Junes
the lips of
which are
sometimes
pink, of
lavender
swollen, as if
to kiss
x memory
x Maxwell the
house the cup
O Mr. Miller
an O'Day serenade
plays close
...'Hi ho trailus
boot whip
boo boo daddy
floy floy'...
the late night
suppers of chops
the peeled onions
the laughter the
potatoes boil
& bubble in the
pot then
father
to dance
the butter in
the sizzle in
the cast iron
pan
their vespers
now descant,
descend
...'How high
the moon...
hungry
the
dish it has
all become
feast for
black 'mouth'
& mouse makes again
x 3 the antinomies
a string
of pearls
anemones
& thee O lover
bring all them
back, so many,
to me now
x Pennsylvania 6-500.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Evocation of River and Spirits
in this city
to guess
having no acumen with
numbers and math but
father's over there
in the cup tilted
over
spilling into
o endlessly
it's seams
it seems
from river bank
into memory which
is - already
over-said
overheard redundantly
as 'river
and time'
- this one
now recalled
to Mind, dad
dad
the cloud drift
and the flows
the tides beside
the city
(both sides)
is as ancient
as it always was
& is
as in the beginning
was darkness over deep
water & a word, any word
really would do it,
form something
out of deep, of
dark, of water
which shapes it-
self only by outer
circumstance,
in this case
a word
leading up to
this -
Palisades cliffs
above bridge tilt
toward, always,
currents,
the river
over-
flows north-
wards
tides rare defy-
ing the moon
that other pull,
you
live the other
side of
sand
the palm sewn
swaying adhered
to Mind
x 1
still, to pass the
time now
x 1
the sooty hand
x 1
over black
'mouth'
or word
allude perhaps
to river's at
city's start
up from water
the silver bay
capped, remembering
frigates
x countless
ferries torn
and Tories be-
tween seas
wars
vast to
the east
x duplicating
waves, stretches
the narrows,
the necks with
rocks strewn,
the lonely buoyless
waves over depths
their vespers
intone
once was laughter
spent
seeking out
between bodies
continents
valleys eternally
shifting eluding
rapture
x 1
whisper
contraction
of sentinel
bells against
each of each
reaching
x 2, the clappers
x 20,000
(of bells
anatomy there
is much to
say
(of the
elements,
zinc, copper,
tin, & more
while not for-
getting brass
more commonly
used)
of infusion
into cuppolas
the beating
the shaping
heat also to
be given account
amounts much into
bells conformed
gracefully out
in the end,
but only
as metal,
sharp tongues
blunted can of
bells then speak
tonally only
overtones inviolate
in violent swings
side to side the
hard knock shocks
into, quake into
belfry beyond
dance of iron
bronze overtaking
&
annunciant round
of hammers)
so many dawns
x so many goings
down of the sun
x fortune the lips
x myriad ones gone
before of murmurers
O lover
of thee
I adore
in timbre
thru the
window rings
the arms too
wring out
breath to
breath
x no more
embraces
into indolence
This, just to
reintroduce some
levity
for we (loves)
were many day-ed
x merry
we merrily played
harming no one,
not even the
mouse unmoved
perhaps, watching
perhaps, still,
still, from beneath
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness
x 1 too many breaths
exchanged, groped
x many ropes all our
wanting
father loves
with his cup
his pipe songs
of love
of love will he
dance between
the violent fasts
from love,
our mother,
with,
fast around around
& around the danced
living room
phonograph brass
loud plays
where June
curtains sway
me and Mr. Miller
I stand behind
them the curtained
dancer entranced
entered into/
upon a mystery
how one could
be so, well,
swell, so
marvelous &
so cruel, (upon
one silver stem
hangs the metal
tin top jags
tears at
memory edge
opens facts
FACT
that there was love,
there was love after
all
I can see
it smell it
feel it there
dancing round
the living
one dropp Mr.
Maxwell holds,
hold on to &
upon goodness
brown pulled
from below down
& dark into deep
such this is
the riddle it is
all now become
since you
departed, love
since you
departed I shall
count backward by
3's then by 4's
these father
memories
torquing
the
door which once
embraced you now
never lets you
go
x brooms
or releases
now you, love
are new memory
hands emptier
sensitive finger-
tips filligreed
prints your
body hairs
sifted imprinted
touching softly
x all the x's
here accounted
for, listed,
besos as kisses
scribbles, notes,
letters,
no matter
the black or
blue tide
of thee
O lover
what
slips out
ebbs black
back into lapis
lapses into what
self is
uttered/poured,
scored trans-
parent upon
surfaces
faces which are
even
eyes which now
glaze with love/
loss
beside the flue
glaze upon the
pane
the black
mouse remains
stays,
is many,
a multitude
of petals
x 3
the jasmine
unspurned
at last
at last/least
O return
soft Junes
the lips of
which are
sometimes
pink, of
lavender
swollen, as if
to kiss
x memory
x Maxwell the
house the cup
O Mr. Miller
an O'Day serenade
plays close
...'Hi ho trailus
boot whip
boo boo daddy
floy floy'...
the late night
suppers of chops
the peeled onions
the laughter the
potatoes boil
& bubble in the
pot then
father
to dance
the butter in
the sizzle in
the cast iron
pan
their vespers
now descant,
descend
...'How high
the ocean, how
high the moon...
hungry
the
dish it has
all become
feast for
black 'mouth'
& mouse makes again
x 3 the antinomies
a string
of pearls
anemones
& thee O lover
bring all them
back, so many,
to me now
x Pennsylvania 6-500.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Of Bells Anatomy There Is Much
of bells
anatomy there
is much to
say
of the
elements,
zinc, copper,
tin, & more
while not for-
getting brass
more commonly
used
of infusion
into cuppolas
the beating
the shaping
heat also to
be given account
amounts much into
bells conformed
gracefully out
in the end
but only
as metal,
sharp tongues
blunted can of
bells then speak
tonally only
overtones inviolate
in violent swings
side to side the
hard knock shocks
into, quakes into
belfry beyond
dance of iron
bronze overtaking
&
annunciant round
of hammers
so many dawns
times so many
goings down of
the sun
O lover
of thee
I adore
in timbre
thru the
window rings
the arms too
cling wring
out
breath to
breath
outreach this
to introduce some
levity
for we (loves)
were many day-ed
times merry
we merrily played
harming no one,
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness
many breaths
exchanged, groped
times the many
ropes
all our
wanting
hands emptier
sensitive finger-
tips filligreed
prints your
body hairs
sifted imprinted
touching softly
no matter
the black or
blue tide
of thee
O lover
what
slips out
ebbs black
back into lapis
lapses into what
self is (a bell
shaped fiercely
formed)
uttered/poured,
scored trans-
parent upon
surfaces
faces which are
even
eyes which now
glaze with love/
loss
a multitude
of petals
peels
the jasmine
unspurned
at last
at last/least
O return
soft Junes
the lips curved
out to ring
sing of
which are
sometimes
pink, of
lavender
swollen
as if to kiss
the antinomies
a string
of pearls
anemones
& thee
bring all them
back, so many,
to me now
their vespers
once was laughter
spent
seeking out
between bodies
continents
valleys eternally
shifting eluding
rapture
contraction
of sentinel
bells against
each of each
reaching
the clappers
their constraining
rounds in too too
secure now rafters
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Some Ways Of Looking At A Black Mouse
[to the reader:
This is part of a series poem...this one
follows 'Instead of You Today One Black Mouse'
which should be read before this one for greater
context. There is a playing going on in both
poems which is not only about love had and lost,
a black mouse that shows up, as well as a dove,
the day before the lover returns permanently
to live in native country of India. There is
a Wallace Stevens' playing with notions of
poetry, meaning, and more, and a playing with
language and signs which shall hopefully lend
some jarring but enjoyable takes/slants/songs/
glyphs.
When you see the 'x's
in the poem, read
'times' as in the
math sign for multi-
plication. & of course
the = sign should
be read as 'equals']
keep saying/
writing 'mouth'
when I want to
speak of the
black 'mouse'
which seems to
have left soon
after it appeared
as you departed.
'Mouth' and
'mouse',
'black mouth',
open and shut.
The window,
the casings
fall, clatter
scattering the
dove brown
upon the space
between the
escape escaping
what is become
poise no
longer.
'Mouth', the
stronger, is.
Is blackness,
I think, insisting
its way past thinking
into mouth or ink
so it is that
lips which are
sometimes pink,
swollen, as if to
kiss, miss the dove
by a wink, and the
mouse is somewhere
else,
at,
passed to
other spaces
still I feel you,
you're here, big
ears, black fur
of Mind
still love, I moan
this morning saying
aloud before the
covers are kicked
he is gone,
hands x 4
he is gone,
feet x 4
he is gone,
lips x 4
he is gone,
heavy groin x 2
he is gone,
heavy groan x 2
the chimney flue
suddenly
in a little
breeze from
above
loosens the ancient
ash from the caked
brick
x countless
number and the
anxious hands, again,
against the grain
x 4
push one finger
x 1
into that ash
writes
x 2 two names
plus 1 subtracted
from the empty
escape
x 1
and another day
of counting
minutes
hours
x seconds
of seconds is
begun begging
Love, yes,
backing in
the floor where we
lay our cluttered
clothes deposed
x at least 3
take me once
again one
x infinity
into your arms
x 2
and leave me when
you/we are done doing
x 0
a mere cypher flown
sheer up the flue
into the blue ash
which now the sky
is
where
(there is
only one
sky)
a dove flies
into some
possibility
of memory
or not
x 35 thousand
x plus the time it
takes for you to exit
shedding skins shells
(I am a shell)
x infinity into
the one drain in-
to ocean reflecting
the ash of what remains
of you on the beach
bathing soft Junes,
the organ grinder
smiles/sings 'te
amo, amor fati'
mellifluously
from the boardwalk
Coney cotton candy
disposed in gales
from breaking
waves, tumbles,
smears, speared
on the weathered
wood
x planks from
many trees
x ants in the
roots lumber-
ing their end-
less burdens
black or red
carapaces as
if shining
sand or sugar
unspun
x grains untold
as hairs, their
bodies follicles
delicate, when
under the June
glass espied
magnified count-
less, collected,
caught upon the
webbed threads
of your large
soft towel with
the palm tree
sewn upon
that I have burned
in the old grate,
a first fire
long awaited
x 30 years since
the last,
undisturbed by
carbon dates
x all times
black mouth
yawns sun into
the window frame
yellow the
other flame
intended name
smears on the
glass an accidental
pane, Mind
x hands touching it
delicate as trespass
what is allowed lace
of vision
x want
= at last a sum
= a remorse felt
memory
torques,
into soft
teas
June
steeps
tur ns
steaming
said window
(and torsos)
said prints
views obscured
of nothing
in particular or
special, but
troubles, troubles
only of passing
birds enamored-of
(their lighter
bones)
or
are they
cloud and shadow,
merely the steep
sun declining ashen
into the Jersey side?
occluded
silhouettes
contrails
glyphs &
Maxwell House
'Good To The Last Drop'
sign,
the familiar
cup for decades
tipped
tips &
one
(out-spilled)
drop
x 0 suspends
o suspends trembling
reflected in the water
river made of the many
countless drops
x (again) infinity
x (surprised) my
father there
(momento mori)
opening the
can all blue with
the same cup tilted
spilling that dark
brown dropp imprinted
x (the
dove, to recall,
brown, shaped like
said drop, now
flown, or) finally
spilled into water,
river currents
downward, to bottom
pulled sort/sift
my father always
complaining of grift,
a weather man by trade,
a cloud man once a pilot
WW2 drifting often since/
enough into sky,
he turns
the silver opener
butterflied
round and round
with effort, his
arthritic com-
plaints upon the
ridged silver top
of the can blue
with coffee
'course grind'
the better to drip
with within &
that satisfying
hiss of compacted
air hissing out
from within
compressed now
released
the smell
then
of coffee fresh
not yet brewed
in the kitchen
the twist of
the edge jagged
silver metal
carefully turned
with fingers to
break the remain-
ing stem of metal
holding the round
to can entire
unsealed now try
without spilling
the grounds
out
x at least 100 thousand
to guess having no
acumen with numbers
and math but father's
over
there in the cup tilted
over spilling into
o endlessly
it's seams, it seems
from river bank
into memory which
is, already
over-said
overheard redundantly
as river
and time,
this one
now recalled
to Mind, dad,
dad
the cloud drift
and the flows
the tides beside
the city
both sides
is as ancient
as it always was
& is
as in the beginning
was darkness over deep
water & a word, any word
really would do it,
form something
out of deep, of
dark, of water
which shapes it-
self only by outer
circumstance,
in this case
a word
leading up to
this -
Palisades cliffs
above bridge tilt
toward, always,
currents, the river
over-
flows north-
wards
tides rare defy-
ing the moon
that other pull,
you
live the other
side of
sand
the palm sewn
swaying adhered
to Mind
x 1
still, to pass the
time now
x 1
the sooty hand
x 1
over black
'mouth'
or word 'mouse'
allude perhaps
to river at
city's start
up from water
the silver bay
capped, remembering
frigates
x countless
ferries torn
and Tories be-
tween seas
wars
vast to
the east
x duplicating
waves, stretches
the narrows,
the necks with
rocks strewn,
the lonely buoyless
depths their vespers
intone
I am, unkindly,
left remembering
once was laughter
spent
seeking out
between bodies
valleys eternally
shifting eluding
rapture
x 1
whisper
hand over 'mouse'
or 'mouth' conjured
x 1 more
contraction
of sentinel
bells against
each of each
reaching
x 2, the legs
x 4, the lips
x myriad ones gone
before, of murmurers
O lover
of thee
I adore
the arms
x no more
embraces
This, just to
reintroduce some
levity
for we
were many day-ed
x merry
we merrily played
harming no one,
not even the
mouse unmoved
perhaps, watching
perhaps, still,
still, from beneath
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness
x 1 too many breaths
exchanged, groped
x many ropes all our
wanting
father loves
with his cup
his pipe songs
of love
of love will
he dance between
the violent fasts
from love,
our mother, with,
fast around around
& around the danced
living room
phonograph brass
loud plays
where June
curtains sway
me and Mr. Miller
(Glenn)
I stand behind
them the curtained
dancer entranced
entered into/
upon a mystery
how one could
be so, well,
swell, so
marvelous &
so cruel, (upon
one silver stem
hangs the metal
tin top jags
tears at
memory edge
opens facts
FACT
that there was love,
there was love after
all
I can see
it smell it
feel it there
dancing round
the living
one dropp Mr.
Maxwell holds,
hold on to &
upon goodness
brown pulled
from below down
& dark into deep
such this is
the riddle it is
all now become
since you
departed, love
since you
departed I shall
count backward by
3's then by 4's
the
door which once
embraced you now
never lets you
go
x brooms
or releases
x all the x's
here accounted
for, listed,
besos as kisses
scribbles, notes,
letters,
no matter
the black or
blue tide
of thee
O lover
what
slips out
ebbs black
back into lapis
lapses into what
self is
uttered/poured,
scored trans-
parent upon
surfaces
faces which are
even
eyes which now
glaze with love/
loss
beside the flue
glaze upon the
pane
the black
mouse remains
stays,
is many,
a multitude
of petals
x 3
the jasmine
unspurned
at last
at last/least
O return
soft Junes
the lips of
which are
sometimes
pink, of
lavender
swollen, as if
to kiss
x memory
x Maxwell the
house the cup
O Mr. Miller
an O'Day serenade
plays close
...'Hi ho trailus
boot whip
boo boo daddy
floy floy'...
the late night
suppers of chops
the peeled onions
the laughter the
potatoes boil
& bubble in the
pot then
father
to dance
the butter in
the sizzle in
the cast iron
pan
their vespers
now descant,
descend
...'How high
the moon...
x 1 black 'mouth'
hungry
the
dish it has
all become
feast for
black 'mouth'
& mouse makes again
x 3 the antinomies
a string
of pearls
anemones
& thee O lover
bring all them
back, so many,
to me now
x Pennsylvania 6-500.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fragments Beginning With A Line By Berryman
for Karthik
Childness let's have us honey
flame intended
name smeared
on the glass
an accidental
pane
x hands touching it
delicate
as trespass
what is allowed
lace of
vision
x want
= at last a sum
= at last a remorse
felt
a memory
sunk into
soft teas
steeps
turns
steami ng
said window
said prints,
views obscured
of nothing
in particular,
or special,
troubles only,
only of passing
birds enamored
of
(their lighter
bones)
or
are they
cloud and shadow?
merely the steep
sun declining ashen
into the Jersey side?
O come lover
back
the floor where we
lay times upon boards
the cluttered
clothes the
depositions
x at least 3
and take me once
again one
x infinity
into your arms
x 2
leave me when
you/we are done doing
x 0
a mere cypher flown
sheer up the flue
into the blue ash
which now the sky is
where
(there is only one
sky)
a dove flies
into some possibility
of memory
or not
x 35 thousand
x plus the time it
takes for you to exit
shedding skins, shells
(am a shell,
water you?
you decide)
x infinity into
the one drain in-
to ocean reflecting
blue sky of ash
into what remains
of you on the beach
bathing soft Junes
the organ grinder
smiles/sings 'amor
fati' mellifluously
the boardwalk on
x planks from
many trees
x ants in the
roots lumber
their endless
burdens black
or red carapaces
shining as if
sand
x grains untold
as hairs their
bodies follicles
delicate when
under the glass
espied
over-spilling into
o endlessly
it's seams, it seems
into memory
which is, already
over-said
overheard redundantly
a river
and time,
this one
recalled,
the cloud drift
and the river
the tides beside
the city both sides
is as ancient
as it always was
& is
in the beginning
was darkness
over deep water
& a word, any word
really would do
form something
out of deep, of
dark, of water
which shapes it-
self only by outer
circumstance
in this case
a word
leading up to
this
contraction
of bellies
against
each
x 2, and legs
x 4, and lips
x myriad ones gone
before of murmurs
O lover
of thee
I adore
I am unkindly
left remembering
once was laughter
spent
seeking out
between bodies'
valleys eternally
shifting eluding
capture
this
just to re-
introduce some
levity for we
were many day-ed
x merry
merrily played
harming no one
not even the
mouse unmoved
perhaps, watching
perhaps, still,
still, from beneath
the god you insisted
be excluded from
all our nakedness
x 1 too many breaths
exchanged, groped
x many ropes all our
wanting
the curtained
dancer entranced
entered into
upon a mystery
how one could
be so, well,
so marvelous
& so cruel too
as one wills
a silver stem
sharp the metal
top jags memory-
edge tears open
facts
that there was love,
there was love after
all
I could see
it smell it
feel it there
dancing round
the livingroom
one holds
on to & upon
goodness brown
pulled from below
down & dark & deep
such is so
this is the
riddle it is
all now become
since you
departed, love
since you
departed I shall
count backward by
3's then 4's the
door which once
embraced you now
never lets you
go
no matter
the black or
blue tide
of thee
O lover
what
slips out
ebbs black
back into
lapis
lapses into what
self is uttered/
poured scored
transparent upon
surfeit surface
faces
which are
even
eyes which now
glaze with love
lost
beside the flue
marked upon the
pane blue
the mouse
black remains
is many
a multitude
of petals
x 3
the jasmine
unspurned
at last at
last/least
return
soft Junes
the lips of
which are
sometimes
pink of
lavender
swollen as
if to kiss
x 3 the antinomies
a string of pearls
& thee O lover
back to me
playing
loud where the
curtains sway
I stand behind
them the curtained
dancer entranced
entered into
upon a mystery
the organ grinder
smiles/sings 'amor
fati' mellifluously on
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem In Fragments Beginning With A Line From Berryman, Black Mouse Series Ensuing
[the poem begins with a line by John Berryman ending with the word 'honey']
Childness let's have us honey, flame intended,
names smeared on the glass, an accidental pane
times hands touching it delicate as trespass,
what is allowed lace of vision times want equals
at last a sum equals at last a remorse felt,
a memory - sunk into soft teas - steeping, turns
steaming said window said prints/views obscured
of nothing in particular or special, troubles only,
only of passing birds enamored of (their lighter
bones) or are they cloud and shadow? merely the
steep sun declining ashen into the Jersey side?
*
O come lover back the floor where we lay a'times
upon boards the cluttered clothes the depositions
times at least three and take me once again one
times infinity into your arms times two leave me
when you/we are done doing times zero a mere cypher
flown sheer up the flue into the blue ash which now
the sky is where (there is only one sky) a dove flies
into possibility of memory or not times countless
thousands times plus the time it takes for you to
exit shedding skins, shells (am a shell, water you?
you decide) times infinity into the one drain in-
*
to ocean reflecting blue sky of ash blew into what
remains of you on the beach bathing soft Junes,
boardwalk organ grinder smiling/sings 'amor fati'
mellifluously on as hairs their bodies follicles
delicate when under the glass espied over-spills
into o endlessly it's seams, it seems, into memory
which is already over-said overheard redundantly a
river and time, this one recalled, the cloud drift
and the river the tides beside the city both sides
is as ancient as it always was and is - in the beginning
was darkness over deep water and a word, any word
*
really would do form something out of deep, of dark,
of water which shapes only by outer circumstance itself
in this case a word leading up to this contraction of
bellies against each times two, and legs times four,
and lips times myriad ones gone before - of murmurs
O lover of thee I adore - I am unkindly left remembering
once was laughter spent seeking out between bodies' valleys
eternally shifting eluding capture, this, just to reintroduce
some levity for we were many day-ed times merry-merrily
played harming no one not even the mouse unmoved per-
haps, watching perhaps, still, still, from beneath the
*
god you insisted be excluded from all our nakedness
times one too many breaths exchanged, groped times
many ropes all our wanting the curtained dancer en-
tranced entered into upon a mystery how one could be
so, well, so marvelous and so cruel too as one wills
memory - an edge tears open: Fact: that there was love,
there was love after all I could see it smell it feel
it there dancing round the living room one holds on
to, and upon goodness worn out pulled from below down
and dark and deep such is this so it is the riddle it
is all now become since you departed, love, since you
*
departed I shall count backward by threes then fours
the door which once embraced you now never lets you
go no matter the black or blue tide of thee O lover,
what slips out ebbs black back into lapis, lapses in-
to what self is uttered/poured scored transparent upon
surfeit surface/faces which are even eyes which now
glaze with love lost beside the flue marked upon the
pane blue the mouse black upon the floor remains is
many, a multitude of petals times three the jasmine
unspurned at last at last/least return soft Junes the
lips of which are sometimes pink of lavender swollen
*
as if to kiss times three the antinomies a string of
pearls and thee O lover to me back 'splaying shyly
where the curtains sway/stand behind them the curtained
dancer entranced/entered into upon a mystery the organ
grinder smiles/sings 'amor fati' mellifluously on
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memory Torques - Opening City
memory
torques
into soft
teas
June
steeps
turns
steaming
said window
(and torsos)
said prints
views obscured
of nothing
in particular
or special,
but
troubles,
troubles only
of passing birds
enamored-of
(their lighter
bones)
or
are they
cloud and shadow,
merely the steep
sun declining ashen
into the Jersey side?
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bells - A Collaboration
The bells! — ah, the bells!
The little silver bells!
How fairy-like a melody there floats
From their throats. —
From their merry little throats —
From the silver, tinkling throats
Of the bells, bells, bells —
Of the bells!
The bells! — ah, the bells!
The heavy iron bells!
How horrible a monody there floats
From their throats —
From their deep-toned throats —
From their melancholy throats!
How I shudder at the notes
Of the bells, bells, bells —
Of the bells!
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Down in the deep water..
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I ponder my life
Just how did I get to this
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where the waterfall of dreams
Sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where time stands still
just only forever.
Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I buried all
That was ever my childhood
Where I let it go,
Where it bends and meanders,
Twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
Were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the deep water,
I left the edge of the river,
As I looked down
For my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the deep water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
......Sinking forever.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sinking..
Down in the water
By the edge of the river
where I ponder my life
just how did I get to this
Down in the water
By the edge of the river
where the waterfall of dreams
sweeps away what’s left to the abyss
Down in the water
by the edge of the river
where time stands still
Just only forever.
Down in the water
by the edge of the river
where I buried all
that was ever childhood
Where I let it go,
where it bends and meanders,
twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current
Down in the water,
I left the edge of the river,
as I looked down
for my soul at the bottom.
Deep in the water
Swept away by the river
I drowned in life,
......sinking forever.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 07: Two Lovers: Overtones
Two lovers, here at the corner, by the steeple,
Two lovers blow together like music blowing:
And the crowd dissolves about them like a sea.
Recurring waves of sound break vaguely about them,
They drift from wall to wall, from tree to tree.
'Well, am I late?' Upward they look and laugh,
They look at the great clock's golden hands,
They laugh and talk, not knowing what they say:
Only, their words like music seem to play;
And seeming to walk, they tread strange sarabands.
'I brought you this . . . ' the soft words float like stars
Down the smooth heaven of her memory.
She stands again by a garden wall,
The peach tree is in bloom, pink blossoms fall,
Water sings from an opened tap, the bees
Glisten and murmur among the trees.
Someone calls from the house. She does not answer.
Backward she leans her head,
And dreamily smiles at the peach-tree leaves, wherethrough
She sees an infinite May sky spread
A vault profoundly blue.
The voice from the house fades far away,
The glistening leaves more vaguely ripple and sway . .
The tap is closed, the water ceases to hiss . . .
Silence . . . blue sky . . . and then, 'I brought you this . . . '
She turns again, and smiles . . . He does not know
She smiles from long ago . . .
She turns to him and smiles . . . Sunlight above him
Roars like a vast invisible sea,
Gold is beaten before him, shrill bells of silver;
He is released of weight, his body is free,
He lifts his arms to swim,
Dark years like sinister tides coil under him . . .
The lazy sea-waves crumble along the beach
With a whirring sound like wind in bells,
He lies outstretched on the yellow wind-worn sands
Reaching his lazy hands
Among the golden grains and sea-white shells . . .
'One white rose . . . or is it pink, to-day?'
They pause and smile, not caring what they say,
If only they may talk.
The crowd flows past them like dividing waters.
Dreaming they stand, dreaming they walk.
'Pink,—to-day!'—Face turns to dream-bright face,
Green leaves rise round them, sunshine settles upon them,
Water, in drops of silver, falls from the rose.
She smiles at a face that smiles through leaves from the mirror.
She breathes the fragrance; her dark eyes close . . .
Time is dissolved, it blows like a little dust:
Time, like a flurry of rain,
Patters and passes, starring the window-pane.
Once, long ago, one night,
She saw the lightning, with long blue quiver of light,
Ripping the darkness . . . and as she turned in terror
A soft face leaned above her, leaned softly down,
Softly around her a breath of roses was blown,
She sank in waves of quiet, she seemed to float
In a sea of silence . . . and soft steps grew remote . .
'Well, let us walk in the park . . . The sun is warm,
We'll sit on a bench and talk . . .' They turn and glide,
The crowd of faces wavers and breaks and flows.
'Look how the oak-tops turn to gold in the sunlight!
Look how the tower is changed and glows!'
Two lovers move in the crowd like a link of music,
We press upon them, we hold them, and let them pass;
A chord of music strikes us and straight we tremble;
We tremble like wind-blown grass.
What was this dream we had, a dream of music,
Music that rose from the opening earth like magic
And shook its beauty upon us and died away?
The long cold streets extend once more before us.
The red sun drops, the walls grow grey.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Silver Bells
City side walks, busy side walks
Dressed in holiday style
In the air there's a feeling of Christmas
Children laughing
People passing
Meeting smile after smile
And in every corner you'll hear.
Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring a ling, hear them ring
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Strings of street lights
Even stop lights
Blink a bright red and green
As the shoppers rush home with their treasures
Hear the snow crunch
See the kids bunch
This is Santa's big scene
And above all the bustle you'll hear.
Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring a ling, hear them ring
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Christmas day.
Silver bells.
Silver bells.
Silver bells...
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Edge of the Water
On the edge of the water
Worrying more than ought to
river reflects back up at me
the water is cool and calm
a peaceful stream
enters my mind
takes over the steering for me
the river floats around a bend
I'm on the mend
with a tree overlooking the river's curve
two birds make a squawk
skim the river's surface together
river boat bells play to set the mood
poem by Ludvig Von Himmelstein
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Electric Eel Song
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Take out you’ foot
From the black river water
Haul out you’ hand
Out the slow river water
Stay ‘pon the bank
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Shadow ‘pon the bottom
Is the eel in the river
Something like you’ hand
Is the eel in the river
Swimming like you’ foot
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Foot after foot
Though the black river water
She can’t touch the bottom
Out the slow river water
Shirt like umbrella
In the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Cutlass shape
Is the eel in the river
Black blade or brown
Is the eel in the river
Dozing so quiet
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Slap of a tail
Through the black river water
Shiver like ague
Out the slow river water
As if she take cramp
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
No blood, just a thrill
Is the eel in the river
Lightning bold
Is the eel in the river
And she Drown now, she chilly
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
poem by Slade Hopkinson
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The First Grey Hair
NO, let it stay. It speaks but truth:
My Autumn's day is dawning.
The dream is past; sweet dream of youth.
Hair, I accept thy warning.
With mournful thought, my spirit swells,
At the wild chime of memory bells.
Why will we in the present time,
Of by-gone days be dreaming?
Say, why throughout the storm sublime,
Is lightning ever gleaming?
Ah! there is naught on earth that quells
The chiming of sad memory bells.
Hope, garlands fair of future bliss,
With Fancy's pearls is weaving;
Alas! we find in world like this,
That Hope too is deceiving,
As on the past, our full heart dwells,
At your sad chiming, memory bells.
In youth all Earth was passing bright,
And life with joy was teeming —
But hidden in each flower was blight,
And happiness was seeming.
Yet charm me with your mystic spells —
With your sweet chiming, memory bells.
Why speak ye of the cruel wrong,
That I am ever grieving?
I would forget, forgive, be strong,
With faith in Christ, believing.
But oh! the strain triumphant knells —
Cease, cease your clashing, memory bells.
Avaunt, dark image of despair!
Why dost thou still go raving?
I would to Lethe's streams repair,
And drown thy taunts in laving.
Alas! can nothing still thy yells?
Cease, cease your clashing, memory bells.
Now mournful is the solemn strain,
And sadly I am weeping.
For those I love in battle slain,
Who all unknown are sleeping,
Like murmuring of ocean shells,
Swells your sad requiem, memory bells.
Now much loved voices in their glee
Their joyous shouts are sending;
And the sweet chorus, light and free,
Of many a song is blending,
Yet bitter tear-drops, sad fare-wells,
Melt in your chiming, memory bells.
Yet I would fain recall the past,
The bright celestial gleaming,
Which my first love around me cast,
Too sweet to be but dreaming.
Like flowing water, in lone dells,
Is your sweet chiming, memory bells.
Yes, silver hair, rest thee in peace,
I know that life is waning,
That soon will all my troubles cease,
And I, the goal attaining,
Will list the joy your music tells,
And love your chiming, memory bells.
poem by Mary Eliza Perine Tucker Lambert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Queen
One last time I am to suffer in agony for my love of ecstasy
One last time I am to offer myself to the gods of midnights hour.
Fresh death within a cage of flesh is calling
Upon my knees I find my body falling
What elder god's shall bear witness to my sacrifice?
Who shall be the suckling babe upon the blood of the night?
Who shall be the chosen light to shine upon the end of time?
A halo of light surrounding
The memory of life forever grounding
Until we drink and take joy from the river of life’s forgetting.
The prophet and the underground
Upon the shoreline there is a child by the day
Asking questions to all that pass him by,
He seeks the city beneath the waves
He seeks a womb anew within the tomb of the Blue Queen sleeping.
Yet as the moon arises to take reign of the night
His skin sheds from his form and he is the serpent sand,
The movement of the torching dunes, he carries the answers secured within the day realm
And delivers them to the minds of those who dare not ask yet are forever searching.
His lover is the Lady of the Water, and from her sleep within the golden realm she awakes to bless with bliss her lover,
Silver lips, ice blue eyes,
She who is the muse of this shoreline lover, this serpent of midnight sand
Each day the sea is absorbed into the sand
Each day the sand, a thousand shells lost to the movement of the waves slips back unto the sea.
When he is weary of the sun he gathers his possessions - a conch shell a gift from his lover,
a batter hat that keeps the sun from his head and his walking staff decorated with various gifts from the ocean.
The bird his friend is the wind and the wind that carries the waters to the mountains to water the land upon which the man lives,
The man can fly upon the birds back but can not see through its eyes
Where as when the blue queen dreams she sees all that the bird sees
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silver Bells
(Jay Livingston/Ray Evans)
Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them ring
Soon it will be Christmas day
City sidewalks, busy sidewalks
Dressed in holiday style
In the air
There's a feeling of Christmas
Children laughing
People passing
Meeting smile after smile
And on ev'ry street corner you'll hear
Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them ring
Soon it will be Christmas day
Strings of street lights
Even stop lights
Blink a bright red and green
As the shoppers rush home with their treasures
Hear the snow crunch
See the kids bunch
This is Santa's big scene
And above all this bustle
You'll hear
Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them ring
Soon it will be Christmas day
Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them ring
Soon it will be Christmas day...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Take Me To The River
I dont know why I love her like I do
All the changes you put me through
Take my money, my cigarettes
I havent seen the worst of it yet
I wanna know that youll tell me
I love to stay
Take me to the river, drop me in the water
Take me to the river, dip me in the water
Washing me down, washing me down
I dont know why you treat me so bad
Think of all the things we could have had
Love is an ocean that I cant forget
My sweet sixteen I would never regret
I wanna know that youll tell me
I love to stay
Take me to the river, drop me in the water
Push me in the river, dip me in the water
Washing me down, washing me
Hug me, squeeze me, love me, tease me
Till I cant, till I cant, till I cant take no more of it
Take me to the water, drop me in the river
Push me in the water, drop me in the river
Washing me down, washing me down
I dont know why I love you like I do
All the troubles you put me through
Sixteen candles there on my wall
And here am I the biggest fool of them all
I wanna know that youll tell me
I love to stay
Take me to the river and drop me in the water
Dip me in the river, drop me in the water
Washing me down, washing me down.
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River Flows
The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers entwine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.
The river with the soft scent of a calm day
With the smell of clean—hanging—still—in the grey
And sweetness carried on the breath of morning
It caresses the river—the waters flowing.
The river—crystalline from winter melt
And sweet with the summer soon felt
It tastes of springtime—the season between
And flows the river—so blue and clean.
The river—its lazy trickle of water
The musical rhythm—the ocean’s daughter
It whispers and murmurs—a song of its own
Playing over and over—in continuous drone.
The river—so clear and cool
The water flows—the color like a jewel
Its soft arms embrace the shore
The river surging from the days before.
The river flows quiet and swift
It twists and turns as the waters drift
It branches and breaks—its fingers in twine
It grows and grows—snakes like a vine.
poem by Kailey Jennings
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silver Bells
(Jay Livingston/Ray Evans)
City sidewalks, busy sidewalks
Dressed in holiday style
In the air there's a feeling of Christmas
Children laughing, people passing
Meeting smile after smile
And on every street corner you'll hear
Silver bells, silver bells
It's Christmas time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them ring
Soon it will be Christmas Day (Eve)
City street lights, even stoplights
Blinking bright red and green
As the shoppers rush home with their treasures
Hear the snow crunch
See the kids bunch
This is Santa's big scene
And above all the bustle you'll hear
Silver bells, (Silver bells)
Silver bells, (Silver bells)
It's Christmas-time in the city
Ring-a-ling, hear them ring
Soon it will be Christmas Day
Soon it will be Christmas Day
song performed by by Jo Dee Messina
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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