Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Once there was spirit

And once there was air

There goes a breath,

There goes an angel

Coming to live in your lungs with tired wings

You can hear him when you wheeze and he sings

 

An ancient barber found it there

As light as a hair, or motes in the air

And in your heart the angel he found truck

Threaded the needle of your blood

And in your bones and ribs became stuck

And when Servetus the barber declared that angel, he in turn

On a pile of green wood for his heresy was burned

 

What we read now on the ashes at the stake

The air was the first thing the Calvinists could take

His lung set free the angel, just as it will for you

The lung the last thing kissed and bade adieu

 

And from the chambers of the heart with relief

There goes his breath

There goes his angel,

And, oh so brief,

There goes his “Thank you”

 

–Eric Rasmussen

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

The Last Kingdom of Richard III

You can get where you’re going by a couple of crowns

I watch them walk by, the sum of young life

Aching and honey haired, their crack voices loud

As cheap trumpets, brazen bells, oiled valves

Not knowing my medallions and orbs trod upon by Spiders

 

I was imperviously covered,

And imperiously stained

Cannot release my scepter

Or catch the humble rain

That dashed the trees in this fell lot

And called me a dispatcher and marplot

 

But I am the brother of a king and a king

The last Plantagenet, crowned by

Sharp Partisans

I conquered Henry. I lay with Anne.

 

This is my lot

To bear kingly burden.

My reputation and me, tarred.

Death, I pronounce it stupid

No sum, like the boy princes’ hair,

Show a life well lived

Though my dominions are rich with purposeful cars

I am forever bent

to de-clutch

My kingdom for a wooden horse

I am old, and I have been here a long time;

My kind seek no validation.

Laugh at my obliqueness as you like.

I still win

Not knowing, as blade touched skull,

That I was ever beaten

 

Park here, I will be a token

Aspire if you can aspire still

Say goodbye to your crown and feed

My metier

Bring your wheels to bear at the path that I have made

And learn to yield

The way I had to yield

Read Full Post »

From the adit holes come breathing

Gold dust from the mountain seething

And Indians laboring with summary pants

Hoist the gold into totemic mill stamps

And with 70 beats per minute, the cams blast.

It’s ancient Mercury whose water kisses

The narrow isthmus on its way to sea;

 

There the natives seldom see a sun

That hasn’t drunk from river San Juan

A vision eating ancient manioc

Upon the Pacific Zion where their kings

Once flocked, decked with cotton and straw

Root crops were the staple foods

Mandioca, tapioca and Mazamorra

And as this dream unfurled in dust

Like palpitant coffee in a sunlight colored rust

Mercury with shoes on backward

Buried his seed in woman-pregnant meanders

Illuminated the fish like Maundy Thursday candles

And spread the dream like straw in a totem’s ears

 

Gold and mercury marry and divorce

To be caught in black nets perforce

Spills to the ground its silver seed for reuse

And makes for Babylon pregnant dreams

Of eating manioc by the Pacific seam once more

Mercury that brings us visions

Of cassava on a fructifying shore

Under dirty gossan caps, meteoric water and large axe handles

The light of the Indian candles finds

A new and smiling seem once more.

Read Full Post »

Green Grease

I ate a burger

I wondered if it’d had a soul

Smoke was the only thing

I kept eating

I have a soul

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

Light Being

You sit next to me, dishabille, with

the curve swelling

 

Dressed in the patterns of Sunday paper

afternoons (airplanes crashing)

Looking at your hair

blown by wind over the pillow. Lipstick. Sun

comes through the ocean screen ‑ a wet calm

from juniper trees outside.

 

The cat plays in a blue light camisole

We threw off the bed. Tweesers

next to a hair. Rarebit in

the stewpot. Kinch. Rind.

 

I felt your own hot tears on the

back of my neck last night ‑

 

You didn’t even ask me what was wrong.

Read Full Post »

A Poem About Cars

Cars,

Cars, cars, cars

Cars, cars, cars, cars

Cars, cars, cars, cars, cars

Cars, cars, cars, cars, cars, cars.

Cars.

Read Full Post »

Paradise for Umbrage

Offense as sweet

As a box of raisins

You didn’t call me.

To offend a wizened grape

Is to offend me

Your hand as empty as a box

Of juice; I take the rain

Like I take the noise of children

 

Every nickel lies so forlorn on the tray

Bitterly remembering every grudge hugged

Come let us transact coffee and steam

Let us make a league of the offended

Dividing the milk of kindness

Until we are all even

 

–Eric Rasmussen

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »