Wednesday, May 30, 2012

A Limerick for Venice - A Book Poem

There once was a lawyer named Felice
Prosecuting on behalf of the Fenice
But the ones he thought guilty
Were considerably wealthy
And prominent members of Venice

    This happened when I was reading John Berendt's The City of Fallen Angels and realized how similar all those names looked on paper. Now, please don't tell me you are an Italian speaker and those aren't pronounced the same. I have a sneaking suspicion of that already...just enjoy it. 
     As background The Fenice was an old opera building that was destroyed by fire in the late 1990s. Felice was the lawyer assigned to the task of prosecuting who was responsible for the fire. Clearly.

Monday, May 21, 2012

Western Bird

Just outside the Evergreens
And I heard
The Western Bird
The one before the showdowns
I’m prepared to meet this Friday
Fully knowing
I’ve burnt two pieces of expensive toast
The Western Bird
Calls twice
For silence
And my shoes are wet.

Here is a little something I messed with a few weeks ago. I can't do much else with it.

Friday, May 18, 2012


That you never hear when our hearts cease to beat
That at the end you think only of the dark recesses of Africa
Where he spills his self-sanctified blood and sweat
And our tears hit the pavement, yet
You won’t hear us when the walls crumble
The choice is deep and long and wide
Too far the chasm, too broke the heart
The beat of lashes on skin for this the public reckoning
And all is put to rights at the sunset
Of this world
Intended: That the weight of this sacrifice is heavy on your shoulders

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Earth Circus: A Book Poem

Oh, the riotous earth
The ever spinning circle of circuses
Duck under your special tent
And find cavorting there
A living thing
A Leaf
An Amoeba
A Finch
And then when you can no longer
Keep in your adulations
Of the master of the circus
Shout to him Hosannah
And Praises and find His hands
In everything
His fingerprints on your heart
Leaping for the riotous earth
The jumbling circus performers
Be dazzled
By robins gorging and growing
And flying away.

Inspired by Annie Dillard's American Childhood

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Morning #4

The morning is a magic space
Before the work, beginnings transcend
And each grass blade holds forth a single water jewel
To sparkle in the glow of sun warrior
Chasing the after-chill of night
There is silence to break your heart
And peace to heal up again
And in all you whisper gratitude
You are the only person this morning is for
This present of the present soaks your senses