POEMS
These partial poems provide a taste of free verse and sonnets.
Morning Glory Moon
Last Light
East of Wheatland, western stretch
Wyoming, straight as time, and flat,
the engine sputtered, slowed, then halted,
ground to empty silence. There among
your sighs, you tinkered, hunched beneath
the hood, the metal maw, while back
behind you, hovered muted mauves
and blues, and dusty grays of dusk. I held
the swaying lantern, twisted, got a glimpse
of distant knoll. A farmhouse flickered on
first light. The hush… the silence… God,
the hollow still. The holy. But for clicking
wrenches, muffled moans, and back contorted
over chrome, city time unfolded… letting out
its breath. Over the graying yellow ground it came—
a cry, a coyote call...
. . .
The Road to Shepetovka
The house stands by, so old. Its skirts
are hiked up from the mud. The shelter
stoops, a solitary wooden grey. There is no
darkness, yet there is no light. And still
the sky is strange … it hovers
all around us, white.
Off the bus,
we stretch our legs. This is the place
. . .
This Winter Night
This winter night
let the winds howl their
hollow song
let the rain streak sideways
scratching at the black
window pane
This winter night
let the raven run to shelter
and the mule deer limp
its line of fading footprints in the mud
. . .
Agamemnon Enters the Lion Gate
(Italian sonnet)
Ten long years of war—a terrible wait
for woman dreamed of … painted halls of stone …
of cumin, coriander … raiment sewn
with sequins … safety of the citadel, the state.
Cassandra follows, mumbles words of fate
and fury. He belly-laughs and lets her drone
her mad-woman speech in ghastly monotone.
Agamemnon enters the Lion Gate,
. . .
Choosing Cherries, 1940
(A Villanelle)
(To view painting, click on: The Cherry Tree, Le Cerisier, by Balthus, 1940)
Antoinette chooses cherries from a tree
on a ladder. Balthus paints. The bushes bloom.
Waves of soldiers move toward Gay Paris.
. . .
The Sultan's Aging Son Recalls the Hippo Hunt
(Italian Sonnet)
(To view painting, click on: “The Hippopotamus Hunt,” by Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1615-1616)
“The sultan sent three sons…” His voice is frail;
the boys lean in. “On horseback, battle bound,
we marched with two barbarians to the sound
of barking curs at our feet and a distant wail
of hippo. Coming close, we saw her flail
a crocodile about. We circled ’round
them in the bog, on sinking hooves. As a hound
sunk teeth into flesh, we readied to impale
. . .
Skara Brae
(A Terzanelle)
Beneath a wintry wind, a village lay
in sand, in secret till an arctic storm
blew back the slender shroud of Skara Brae.
. . .
Photo posted with photographer's permission.
The Rhino Takes a Snooze
(A Terzanelle)
(To view painting, click on: “Exhibition of a Rhinoceros at Venice,” by Pietro Longhi, 1751)
The rhino sighs, then slowly chews
on hay. He gives his lips a lick,
shakes a fly, and takes a snooze.
. . .
Mr. and Mrs. Andrews Sowing Green
(A Villanelle)
(To view painting, click on: “Mr. and Mrs. Andrews,” Thomas Gainsborough, c. 1750)
Mr. and Mrs. Andrews now convene
to pose for the painter. As if in exposé,
the sky is tossing thunder. What a scene!
. . .
Kyrielle Dream Delight
(after Trittico del Giardino Delle Delizie, Bosch, c. 1460-1516)
Naked maidens mount the white boar,
bulls, blonde horses… parade by beds
of moss-green hedges by the shore,
balancing blackbirds on their heads.
. . .
Painting free for use on Pixabay
The Offering
(To view painting, click on: “The Flower Carrier” by Diego Rivera, 1935)
The campesino crouches, fingers splayed
against the ground. Toes of huarache graze
the dirt and stones; his lemon knees careen;
his elbows lock and shiver and quake below
the load.
. . .
Non-copyrighted mural of Diego Rivera
Soaring
(Blank Verse)
There’s nothing like it: gently grooming a horse
then hoisting saddle, pulling cinch up tight
and stepping into stirrup, swinging up—
every phase: the sitting, walking, trot,
the canter and the race. But here’s the thing:
to jump a fence while perched upon a horse
is like a fable—tale of sweet divine—
too sweet, almost, to be of earth’s design.
. . .
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