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.