Thursday, September 18, 2008

Blood



The Writers Almanac
by Glen Creason
Selected Poems) --THURSDAY, 8 February 2009Listen (RealAudio) How to listen


Poem: “Blood”

Bloody, bawling, bundle of anxious questions
I held her up, our eyes locked in love
Where would we go from there?
Her jagged breaths were my own
Sleep never seemed to matter then
We held each other up together
Constant as the northern star
This glowing stellar child in my heart
I held her up to see the monkeys in the zoo
Upwards she made me stand in lines
Thick paper mortarboards and ballet tears
She held up to the lessons
Sitting up proud in stale studios
I’m the bedtime pony! I said
Waiting for her teenage exhale
Up she grew, past my concerns
I held her up to scrutiny
She held me up in mutiny
I hate you she screamed
I hope you die, the words cut
You’re stuck with me I said
Those breathes of bravado, masking dread
I can’t, I won’t leave that upward look
Years crawled past too quickly
I held her up without feeling
The ache she learned from me
The old man, bending toward earth
Broken hearted now, once more
Thinking my road was again hopeless
cul de sac dead end
The once little one held me up
Like once we craned upward, at monkeys
Forgetting to do anything but
Feel how wonderful the air
Felt up there.
Lifted up again

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Ramblin Jack said


"Now a Ramblin' Jack Elliot said:
I got these lines in my face
Tryin' to straighten out the wrinkles in my life
When I think of all the fools I've been It's a
wonder that I've sailed this many miles..."
-Guy Clark "Ramblin Jack and Mahan"

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Sparrow's song


This bird that sings, heaving her small breast
Becoming something courageous, wonderful
The song breaking the day’s stillness
Sweetening the world as it softly winds
Around the trees and into rooms nearby
Even distracted by our skins
We hear and exalt in the sounds
Expanding our slice of sky outside

These same birds, grooming
Sitting silent on the deciduous branch
A little brown sparrow ducks in ryhyme
Making no mark in this morning
Yet, when she sings it makes things right
Ablution in the stone clean water
Splashing the joy of notes over us
Hearkening the new day and hope for
The coming cacophony of the battle ahead
Where no such songs will be heard.