From My Corner Seat Read online

  convert my passing glance to peace—

  for Arthur neither sees nor smells

  that frightened rabbit in the grass,

  but passes as we continue down

  the sloping road. I leave a slip

  of smile—quite unappreciated,

  I’m sure—with that residual

  relief the quivering rabbit owns.

  WCF

  7 May 2010

  Jack Remembered

  After the waning months,

  as life malingered ill

  and awkwardly for him—

  a man of fervent zest

  and twinkling eye—this time

  beyond his death considers

  release at home. The man

  so strained by everything

  and laden in the mind

  distorted by the strokes

  that wore him desperately—

  he seems the same and not

  the same. He is the man

  whose gentleness awaits

  its gleaning at life’s gloaming,

  the closure opening

  to all the Spirit’s more.

  WCF

  18 September 2011

  One Pause In Melancholy

  That windless windmill stands

  a still reminder where

  the latest breath has sighed

  into a stagnant will.

  Along the crest, the frame

  and gaunt wings situate

  a latent game, at rest

  until some feature breath

  exhale delight across

  the strident land. We wait

  the turning in the breeze,

  too much aware of how

  neglect inflects the mind

  in sweat while windless mill

  gawks awkwardly upon

  the dust that leers about

  this melancholy game

  of waiting through the still

  for some exhausted breath

  to forge our fresher life.

  WCF

  2 September 2009

  On Hilary Hahn:

  Brahms’ Violin Concerto

  second movement

  So step the chords, legato smooth,

  that in this legacy lithe joy

  remove accumulated dross

  at rapture’s elegant repose.

  The strings enunciate the plight

  now wringing visceral intent

  that by the supple flight of sound

  elusive normed ellipses bend

  intensity’s exacting lures,

  approaching ecstasy in rasp

  alleviated to exalted

  and liminal radiance; joy’s glow.

  WCF

  20 May 2010

  All Aswirl Amok

  A tizzy swirls

  exactingly

  about the face

  congested with

  ten thousand thousand

  wild swirling thoughts

  of things undone,

  unsaid, unplaced

  in worlds that she

  alone might name.

  A wonder there

  as strides begin,

  divert, return

  while arms swing wide

  and near as hands

  gesticulate

  in thought-wrought ways,

  unlikely soon

  to find their place—

  as most like runes

  of a silent trace

  wrought labyrinthine

  into a Deep,

  and secret keep.

  WCF

  21 May 2010

  Air Beneath An Arm

  The palm upon a hip,

  the other hand having grip

  upon a phone, she stands,

  the elbow showing past

  the jamb, a crook to grasp

  the finite, bold enough

  to tryst an infinite

  ellipsis on the joint.

  The arm reforms the eye

  with muscles moving time

  and space to hold it all

  within this triangle

  of molten cause. I see

  the lapse collapse from view

  and only hear the laughter

  malingering beyond

  capacity to bond.

  WCF

  21 May 2010

  As I Ramble On

  after being asked

  As I elaborate

  excitedly the themes

  of poetry’s exacting

  intrigues—the lines

  and breaks, the cadence, flow,

  emergence, sonic tones

  demanding by the ear

  to formulate in dear

  condition springs and flings

  of countervailing shifts

  as memory engages

  tautology and mazes

  amazingly—well, then

  a mottle flush, a step

  in staggered crush, a gaze

  of slightly panicked phase

  converts conveyance into

  deferring trepidation.

  WCF

  18 May 2010

  The Old Man

  The old man standing back—

  his family engaged

  in rambling chatter—wife

  and daughter (I suppose),

  granddaughter and her husband,

  her mother, daughter—all

  in busyness with those

  who cluster to approve

  the toddler in her father’s

  appreciating arms—

  the old man stands and sees

  it all as his—perhaps

  as not: his somber face

  accepts my glance. His hand

  extends, absorbs my own.

  A mumbled word, a nod:

  that’s all, as all is told.

  WCF

  9 May 2010

  Recalled From Reverie

  The gathered men

  are noisy, grouped

  before the flat

  screen showing while

  the bar maid leans

  on elbows at

  the empty side.

  I slide to greet

  her there, assume

  a stool, recite

  the poetry

  unto the muse

  within the folds

  of arching gold.

  Her lifted eyes

  endow a smile

  as ears attend

  the spoken lines

  as probing tines

  awareness finds

  intruding close…

  and rousing sparks.

  WCF

  18 May 2010

  So Known

  As Missing Now

  The missing sense—

  an essence blown

  in corners, left

  in crevices,

  ubiquitous

  as daily dust—

  unnoticed, yet

  imperative:

  the place alludes

  to something there

  that is not here,

  elusively

  permissive, like

  a hint in air

  accustomed here

  and missing as

  I pass my postage

  into the fray.

  WCF

  22 May 2010


  Exchange By Gesture

  She turns around the post

  that ends the banister

  to climb the stairs—her strides

  are slow as if the day

  wore to an evening lull

  and weariness lay toll

  upon her ways. I lift

  a hand to cast a wave

  offhandedly; she seems

  to find peripheral

  acceptance—lifts her trailing,

  extended hand as she

  composes to the climb

  to other, office chores.

  The mute agreement wields

  a subtle, gracious line

  alluding to the yield

  of unaccented pleas.

  WCF

  18 May 2010

  Held At The Font

  They hold her while the talk

  comes formally around

  her ears; she does not care

  but rolls her arms about

  her mother’s shoulders, neck

  while resting on her arms.

  The young hands troll the hair

  along her mother’s neck,

  the fingers raking well

  and drawing locks aside

  before her mother’s touch

  restores the troubled tresses

  and all continues toward

  the fullness, as the water

  is thrice poured on her head,

  disturbing everything.

  WCF

  25 September 2011

  We, Coming At The

  Last Of Times

  As I approach a little late,

  slide to my parking place and slip

  my body through the door, I see

  another backing in to take

  the next to last available spot.

  I cross to enter at the door,

  the nearest, on the side. I hear

  another talking to explain

  what seems an academic theme

  and see the woman hold the door—

  she held for her laden husband

  and now for me (she, chuckling, says

  because I carry books in hand!).

  I smile and take the opened door,

  permit her space to pass with grace

  and follow him on down the stairs.

  At last I hasten, catch the last

  processing half a verse as I

  have notched into an empty pew,

  begun to sort myself in time

  with service cadence set to start.

  I see the others I had seen

  slip gently, generously in

  to own their usual consignments.

  WCF

  17 May 2010

  Coffee Ground

  Upon A Second Request

  Forgetfulness endows the moment, leaves

  neglect to reap surmise in other eyes.

  Thus I repeat forgotten wishes, tries

  that infiltrate anew the prize. She weaves

  insistently her breaking smile into

  my waiting while. I dandle will until

  this instant grills my wont, attends the sill

  of my neglect. I dally enough to view.

  I am beyond my waiting now. I tend

  irrevocable decisions, have it all

  behind my gathered glance, and wait again

  the finishing of one more package. Bend

  of will, the tally at the till, the thrall

  of dancing eyes and coffee beans—all then.

  WCF

  21 May 2010

  With Utter Grace

  Attentive to her view

  she rides her father’s arm

  along the aisle. Her gaze

  sweeps over everyone

  with regal polish. He

  supports her with one arm

  and lets the other serve

  to comfort her in all

  her mid-distraction pose.

  She takes her ride in style,

  assured that all is as

  it ought to be—and she

  adored in father’s eyes,

  so naturally alive.

  WCF

  4 April 2010

  Ankh

  The silver ankh rests causally

  beneath the throat, against the sun

  flushed skin: a shining cross of life,

  the instigating sign expresses

  a modulation, quietly

  assigning to the regimen

  of mystery the readied lode

  where living takes inviting crease

  to close and hint, to cleave and cleave

  intensity in subtle haunts:

  ankh—poised and readied at the apse

  of singular suggestion’s cause.

  In this we simply dally, words

  engraving air and ear to tally

  allusions that exceed the lulls

  wherein the moment shared is culled.

  WCF

  18 May 2010

  Correctly Poised

  Contentedly she sits

  and listens, sits and waits.

  She sees his eyes glance, gleam

  for her. She savors pride

  like this (he seems to be

  grandfatherly to me)

  and winnows chances lean

  and rich alike to own

  the loving glance he leaves

  upon her face. His pride

  is buoyant love he wields

  about her little girl

  appearance—more his own

  peculiar pleasure in

  the toying of the crease

  about her nascent smile.

  WCF

  16 May 2010

  Beloved Yet

  His voice remembers when

  its strength rang triumph through

  this hall, sang true and clear

  on old and new. The strength

  meanders now—in pace

  and tone; forgetfulness

  erodes that mastery.

  His eyes attend the faces

  he sees, the sequence brought

  into his focus. There

  we dally, shift, return

  as desperation seines

  the kindness laved upon

  his hands. His grip extends

  and lingers in a hand,

  almost remembering

  today’s frayed graces, whole.

  WCF

  16 May 2010

  Upon Motet

  Strict focus on the words

  lips form exactly while

  the throat and head arrange

  such resonance and tone

  as matter to the sung

  condition, exaltation—

  this concentration wreathes

  the eyes and cheek, the jaw

  and nose—a radiance

  of rose tinged cream alive

  with music’s thronging plea

  to be incarnate sound,

  the body at this play

  the instrument to form

  such sounds as must allow

  transcendence into lilt

  of all the body loosed

  to be devoured by ear.

  WCF

  17 May 2010

  At Departure

  Her head bent at the nape

  she watches as her hands

  stir, ruffling lettuce greens

  within th
e bowl at waist

  height, leaving mind to slide

  in blank expression through

  some other moot arena,

  desire’s obscurity.

  I wish a weekend’s ease

  and pleasure. She replies

  in kind, by name, without

  an interruption: hands

  continue mechanical

  attention to the greens

  as eyes gaze down, the nape

  yet bent, the posture left

  as moored in an ambiance

  removed from this milieu.

  WCF

  14 May 2010

  By Such Arrangements

  Arrangements too presumed:

  affirmed again in time

  for time elapsing, meant

  to understand the way

  a shattering begins

  completion of the sort

  most unintended. Time

  becomes a vacancy,

  relentlessly aloof

  in unmarked qualities

  of loss. By grinding, dust