From My Corner Seat Read online

  the words I hear

  beyond these walls:

  a nasal tone

  enticing time

  to tarry, earn

  a mime on site

  as somber smile

  illumines where

  a lively flair

  engages life

  beyond this drought.

  WCF

  1 April 2010

  “In Obscurum”

  Upon the brink, within the breach

  too fundamental to abide,

  the plea of ultimate desire

  leaves tremolo in faint allure.

  Resounding with profound intent

  where limitless, profound abyss

  wears agonizingly adept

  the narrowing of hope, the lilt

  of mystery impends upon

  the Deep, a whispering of breath,

  breathed awe as impetus for fresh

  deterrence, wreathed delight alone.

  WCF

  2 April 2010

  Intending Not To Overhear

  As in and out, their conversation floats

  into my ear. Awareness fluctuates

  in unintentional appeals by motes

  of imagery, of pronouns, verbs that grate

  upon dissociation. Faces rise

  in tentative allusion, seem to fit

  the fragments, shards of spoken lines. The size

  of my completion must diminish, flit

  between my unconcerns and those that match

  impossibilities. I turn to trace

  ideas on my page. Again I catch

  some partial thread, some ferment short of grace.

  Occasioned by imbalance, tottering

  along the disconnections, figments wring.

  WCF

  1 April 2010

  And, After The Breath…

  Life is a once upon a time,

  where magic, mystery, allure

  transfigure commonplaces—as when

  white frosted gingerbread transforms

  a tree to Christmas flair—until

  true callous knowing learns in fact

  the tree becomes a cookie jar

  too soon and wonder becomes a sigh.

  In time, then, all discover that

  reality is practical,

  interminable and evermore

  improvable, that wonder yields

  to ordinary conditioned terms.

  Life as a once upon a time

  imagined fingertips could wield

  caresses at the hint of skin

  and hands adore suggestion where

  the haunt of form regresses from

  too actual, tangential lore.

  But every once upon a time

  submits its magical deceits

  to measure. Each conceit begins

  translation from imagination

  into the technically correct,

  connectable expression meant

  to lurch from once upon a time

  into the cure of stilted girth.

  WCF

  20 April 2011

  Inopportune Computer Glitch

  for Janet, Susan and Chrissy

  Within the easy flow of tardy care

  as faces change and passwords intervene,

  too suddenly the process crinkles, deems

  the progress interdicted. Begin the glare

  frustration births in place of a ready smile.

  Attempt the obvious. Once failed, repeat

  apparent needs, without avail. My seat

  of waiting watches time consumed the while.

  Congestion wrangles, heads combined to wrest

  impossibilities around. A call

  or two (or maybe three) interrogates

  an absent expertise. This flurried quest

  recruits from management, arrays a pall

  on earnest, learns the cue and prates.

  WCF

  6 April 2011

  Approaching Compline

  Compelling silence infiltrates the room

  as incense plumes ascend to slowly fill

  the sanctuary with its presence till

  aroma penetrate, transforming gloom.

  Unspeaking figures glide to place and kneel

  until a satiety appeals. They wait

  the hour appointed, quietly to fete

  their senses on the Spirit’s haunting weal.

  Within this silence, thick enough to feel,

  a distant sound—Westminster Chimes—begins

  to sift within at whisper pitch. The hint:

  the hour is come. Soft pitches hum. We reel

  with singers’ ecstasy: Laudate. Din

  lies singular and thin, Laudate’s glint.

  WCF

  21 March 2010

  Quite Useless For The Cause

  The stone hands won’t conform to gentleness

  but in their solid form retain a hard

  demeanor lest the graceful form unguard

  the meaningful, withheld and late caress.

  Remaining in their bulk as granite, rough

  approximations meant to tarry lest

  the rude attachment rock and fail the test

  a rounded, softened cheek takes to the gruff.

  So properly, stone fingers do not curl

  and palms absolve all flexibility,

  leave all their offering as latent sign

  of openness, and willingness as burl

  to wait away, a chastened norm, and free

  that blossom-cheek to implicate its line.

  WCF

  19 March 2010

  As Cast Aside

  After the stairs I sweep my way

  on through the door into the narthex.

  She stands away before me, back

  to me in graceful poise. To my

  surprise she turns around—she is

  who I suspected she might be.

  Instinctively, I leave a slight

  permissive smile, portend a nod—

  but all the while her eyes assume

  the pattern of the floor. A flush

  caresses cheeks and throat, above

  the gentle cut of neckline. I

  leave off the quickened glance to leave

  her disconnected eyes in peace.

  WCF

  21 March 2010

  A Visionary Dilemma

  or riding the horns

  What everybody knows

  conflicts with views attained

  by contravening means—

  and so the teeming thought

  presiding in the main

  divergent images

  appears ridiculous,

  absurd—rune ciphers etched

  in unscraped wax,

  lost in charades of cold

  fixed fantasies, the ilk

  of leprechauns in ice.

  WCF

  19 March 2010

  The Count

  The fingers fold the quarters round;

  they flip, reverse and pile again

  upon the stainless counter top.

  I stop to watch; she sets them down,

  a single pile (I think of three)

  and leaves them slightly skewed. I note

  them as she piles the ones aside

  that now unstraightened stack. She says

  ‘don’t talk to me just now’. And I

  retain my silence a
s I watch

  her squirm and rearrange the bills;

  I even raise my hand that I

  might properly intervene on this,

  confessing I have spoken naught.

  She grins, agrees and sighs before

  the counting on the counter top

  begins again beneath her grin…

  before she lifts her dancing eyes.

  WCF

  19 March 2010

  Sunshine’s Benefit Concert

  Another sunny day

  succeeds the clouds and chill,

  moist penetrating dree.

  Beneath that sun the pool

  begins to tease the frogs

  from bottom mire to top

  where they begin afresh

  to celebrate the hints

  that Spring allures us yet

  while, as a crocus, hint

  is boldly brilliant—yet

  the lasting haunt of winter

  remains a whispered threat.

  The frogs, though, gently chirp

  and activate their glee.

  WCF

  16 March 2010

  Sat At The Next Table

  So quietly she enters, turns

  a head to see me corner-seated,

  start, and then continue on

  to take the seat immediately

  in front of me. She’s young and lean,

  an early tan upon her face,

  her hair drawn to a tie at nape,

  a tail left dangling behind her shoulders.

  Another joins her, chatters some,

  accesses her cell to call another,

  dilute the poignancy of two

  by interlacing someone else,

  a faceless voice claimed only by

  her ear. She notes her answer down,

  a pen upon a pad, while she

  who first came sits and watches, sits

  and munches on her tin-plate lunch.

  Theirs is a lissome silence, posed

  ineffably apart from me,

  set merely five feet from the first.

  WCF

  12 March 2010

  The Quiet Man

  Back in his corner seat

  he sits to eat. I notice

  his presence, recognize

  his face and speak to greet

  him. He in turn lets nod

  accentuate his note

  of me in reply. I watch

  him lift a potato chip

  to lips while matter pauses

  to greet me there. He is,

  as often, quiet, quite

  the hushed; a soft toned yield

  is all an ear can claim

  from him most any time.

  His eyes return to see

  the plate, direct a hand

  to find another chip

  in his pursuit of lunch

  and satiety, his one

  still fundamental desire.

  WCF

  19 March 2010

  Balancing Act

  Irregularities design the task

  of balancing a table on a floor

  assigned by aging wear. The hands shove; more

  is needed one way, then the next. A mask

  of rote perplexity assigns the face

  its momentary lull. I see her take

  another nudge, apply a pull to make

  approximation near enough for grace.

  We laugh about the mixing floor, the style

  of one arrangement centering a ring

  that flows around the room. With time to spare

  (the eager crowd had long been gone) we while

  a moment over Cancun, snow, a fling

  with sun and melting, and dalliance to dare.

  WCF

  5 March 2010

  At Peace

  Too far away

  to speak or reach

  a hand, his eyes

  let warm light bend

  and lead a flush

  and grin to flash

  as eyes engage

  my eyes. A hand

  lifts, sets its vee

  in fingers, thus

  by image marking

  the sign implied.

  Paix Christ: paix Christ.

  WCF

  28 February 2010

  Met Amid Necessities

  Almost a sullen gaze,

  glazed eyes and shuffling feet

  that pass across this floor

  in youthful resignation:

  necessity for pay

  is work, and work demands

  she shuffle past my place

  a glum distraction—rag

  in hand to wipe, or plates

  for her delivering

  beyond the archway cut

  into this wall beside

  my seating. Over there

  the jabber masters all

  and in her silence she

  attends the tables, comes

  in shuffle once again

  before my glancing eyes—

  as if a rooting sigh.

  WCF

  12 March 2010

  Once Again, In Context

  The old man rambles on his talk

  of work and family, of all

  his intricate intrigues of wit

  and ordinary scales of life.

  She listens as she handles what

  he’s asked of her, allowing eyes

  to flicker after his, a quick

  incisive grin come etched in lithe

  and limpid cheeks—a fascination:

  delight in simple measure played

  across the gap in space and eye,

  allowing humanity to gleam.

  WCF

  6 March 2010

  Renewing Now

  She raises eyes to move

  and asks what I had said.

  I ask again how she

  is doing. Wry half smile

  replies she’s doing fine—

  a glance that lingers one

  slight moment past the crease

  necessity allows

  before she turns and weaves

  her passage to the sink,

  to lean in careless mien

  and, with a sort of toss

  of head, correcting lay

  of tresses to her nape,

  she strides away behind

  another face, beyond

  the tracing of a gaze.

  WCF

  1 March 2010

  Attending To The Chores

  Come to the end,

  she brings her cup

  and plate to place

  them in the tray,

  the trash below,

  as knowing how

  the auto-bus

  proceeds. She lets

  a little glance

  escape, to wrap

  my eyes in her

  brown depths of sight.

  I smile; she looks

  away, a hint

  of curl against

  her lip, to finish

  the chosen chore.

  She turns to go,

  hair draped at cheek

  as head remains

  in droop: her eye

  attaches; smile

  indents the dimple

  in cheek; a word

  is whispered: hi.

  WCF

  19 Februa
ry 2010

  So Open In Defense

  The baby on her lap

  grows restless, reaches hands

  into the mother’s face,

  enticing there a scowl

  deemed out of place. The head

  bends back, removing nose

  and lips and eyes from hands

  that grasp and pull in want

  of undeclared desires—

  the open throat is live

  and opportune—a mask

  of safety in the ilk

  desire endorses—where

  that savor deeply felt

  exposes in the dim

  an altar radiance.

  WCF

  21 February 2010

  Lone Rabbit In Tall Grass

  A silent quiver holds its still

  assessment in the grass—kept low

  along the crease of land, this eye,

  perked ears and ready settlement