From My Corner Seat Page 5
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