Sunday, July 11, 2010

swirl one knit brow

The blueberries in the saucepan
said yes but the bowl's metal flip
rising said spew char into blains
and the tragic arrival of ointment.

Everything takes you back
to some recurring dream
that is a constant deja vu:
couched in the louvred porch
symmetrically opposed at pairs
in red corduroy and ocher throws,
spirits gathered to haunt in silence
wondering what you're doing here.

The carpet stairs are worn there
and no repairs are scheduled,
the green clang of the dumpster
is a lifted chapter already uncus
in the window behind your ear.

How did that pine tree go
so unnoticed so lonely so long?

Intonations for a spell of virga
in a season already pluvian
go unanswered in the swirl,
the flirtation of the hanging squirrel
has coaxed the lettuce to seed
and the maple from Japan
is dying from ants under bark
and antic slapstick collisions
from the trampling of hounds.

A green and yellow garden glove
flattened with navy wristband
half in shadow and half in dust
awaits fingers of light to spread.

In the cry of the catbirds
I am summoned as a god
but nowhere else I turn:

it would be of no value to you
but it has great value to me
because of milky magic
in a molecular rumba
invisible to the naked eye.

Wondering if I should prune two branches,
I want gold finches and I want them now.


  1. Such a wonderful poem. It is funny how all the little things can paint such a big picture of what is. :-)

  2. Dear I just love how you have to be educated to really appreciate your poetry..... unfortunately I am to uneducated! I read and reread it over and over and just squeeze all of the beauty I can manage from it. The words alone are amazing, and then you concoct some magnificent beast from them. I really enjoy your work.

  3. @Autumn: I am old and I am still learning and most times feel like I don't know anything. But I just keep plugging away. Thanks for the read.

  4. Your poetry always makes me stop for a moment, take a breathe, and really think about things. I love the images you weave together in each poem. I wonder, have you tried to shorten your poems until you have just the very bones of the thing, and see what happens? It might be interesting, if nothing else!

  5. @Chris: Thanks. Appreciate the suggestion and, as I love to mull, always happy for a topic about which to mull. I edit obsessively. Every word needs to be there at the moment even though I would usually be a loss to mount a rational defense. So serendipitous what you said because moments before I read your comment, I had just posted a new poem that is just the very bones, at least as much as I can do very bones. Ha! Freak out.

  6. the so lonely line was quite poignant;
    your other comments reflect my own admiration for the way you convey the world in the grain of sand and eternity in an hour ( with apologies to Blake), and the delight of a garden, no matter how big or small.

  7. Wonderful words and images in this poem, Gerry. Nice to have discovered your work!