October 2 [Book of October]

October 2 / the dark thought

The dark thought is just ahead
Like a porch off the kitchen,
The door held open
By a painted rock. But the sliding
Glass doors beyond are locked and weather-
Taped shut. I take the dogs outside
Before bed and the sudden quiet
Of crickets as we round the corner
Is like the dark thought. The dull
Glow of the last light bulb going out
Is not the dark thought though
I think it is. It’s like the rocking chair
Which I know I can avoid but
Walk into because my eyes
Are still smarting from the light
Bulb’s ghost, fading memory
Of light, which I turn to curse
And see only the pitch black air:
The solid darkness and lack of
Location: the nothing to grasp:
That’s the dark thought.

The shadow among us [by August Schwaner]

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[Note: My son August, 9, wrote this poem on a sick day last week.]

The shadow among us

The shadow
among us searches

for inner
love only
to get bitter
coldness and
despair for it grasps

love fear hate
and sadness
but only to

find it has
betrayed itself
within.

October 1 [Book of October]

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October 1

It’s dark before we’re ready.
The house hums its electric song to itself.
The breath of the song is power
But the song is not about power.

There’s a borderline to the month.
If you wake on the far side of it you cannot sleep
And lay in the dark, awake early but rested,

Aware of the wind listening to the trees
Say their prayers, like a foster parent
Not yet ready to talk about growing up.

And gradually the notes of the day
Arrange themselves across the earth
Like sheet music. And the trees dream.

When the month’s song is over
And the dead hands are done clapping
The house’s song will be louder.
I remember waking up on the other side
Of that border and I remember the words
I tried sounded like windows shutting.
The house encased in its song’s glow
Like an egg. One spring day we will not be reborn.
It’s dark before we’re ready.

September 30 [Book of October]

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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)

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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

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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