Monthly Archives: September 2016

September 30 [Book of October]

September 30

We know what the year’s worth
Like we know a coin from its size in our palm.

The month’s full moon. A gumball in a gumball machine.
And once in awhile, two slip out at once

Into your hands. When did the fall’s first
Cold night become a harbinger for a life

Shifting seasons? I look out there:
Not a leaf has left me. Still, if what’s ahead

Is more than loose change, you’re going
To have to get a lot closer to keep

Us both warm with what’s coming.

Which Poet, Which Beer (3)

Poet Robert Okaji pairs choice beers with choice poets… apparently the GOAT poems go well with a good brew! Thanks, RO…

O at the Edges

beer

Nebraska Brewing Company’s Melange a Trois, a strong Belgian-Style Blonde ale, aged for six months in French Oak Chardonnay barrels, carries a good bit of the wine, with citrus and a hint of vanilla. A little musty, with an excellent frothy head, which, I believe, could describe me most mornings. But I digress. Deceptively strong (11+ ABV) with a pleasant bitterness. I would pair this with a plate of cured meat and David Wevill’s Other Names for the Heart: New and Selected Poems 1964-1984.

He writes in “Grace”:

… Sometimes lately

a bird you can’t identify has flitted close
and sung from the branches of his hands.

He leaves us touching ourselves.

Over the past thirty years, much of Wevill’s writing has left me with unrequited questions, with an itch to branch out, to learn more, to delve deeper into what makes us human.

But there are those…

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Single-minded

Single-minded

2:33 in the morning.
The owl screeches like a thought’s hinges.

One that keeps opening just a crack
but nobody steps through.

I turn over my pillow, squint into the dark
yard, knowing nothing will clarify.

Whatever you are thinking
I am thinking, too.

The Footman’s Intent

My old New England neighborhood used to be full of those guys…

Quirk N Jive

She saw the footman

standing next to the house

to its right

bearing a lantern

to guide the traveler at night.

I don’t like it,

she told me as I laid her to bed.

I wondered what went on

in my six-year old’s head.

Why be frightened, my dear?

What is it that causes this fear

of an object so innocent,

so mundane?

Why did dark thoughts

dance through her brain?

I drove past that statue again

one night alone

and I saw what she saw

under the light of the full moon-

a lurking thing beside that home

a thing of the past, a relic

left in the weeds to roam,

its body bent forwards

ready to creep towards the house.

To do what?

To sneak in

silent, like a mouse?

So small and quiet

in a place where it did not belong.

I thought-that thing, if possessed, would be strong.

Yes, now…

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