September 17: some poems
September 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
When I want to cheat on this project, I post poems. Like today: I was preparing for my class until 10. When I started cutting papers for my next project, at 10:30, I got very tired, and had to be in bed this minute. However, my project requires five minutes of creative time, so I took five minutes to read through some never-published poems, change a few words, pat myself on the shoulder, and think, this is not so bad for an amateur. Then I picked out a few to share. My task is now done; off to bed. Some days blogging is a chore more than a pleasure, but one needs to be disciplined, and I am sure that, as I am falling asleep, I will feel better for having taken those five minutes for something that is not related to parenting or teaching.
While I await
Dozens of people, congregated in my mind, stand lined on the seashore waving to horizon ships.
I am about to send them all to Coney Island,
where they may eat hot dogs, fornicate,
hide under psychics’ tables covered by tablecloths,
or scream on nowhere-going rides.
When they get off we all sit on hard leather suitcases waiting for the train.
Some juggle balls and oranges,
some find partners and begin to slow dance,
some perform the solo weeping dance,
while the joyful donate their pressed handkerchiefs to those less fortunate.
Psychics come over and give them insipid advice:
Sister, move South and Brother get yourself some teeth.
Sometimes they yell and I send them away but mostly their company soothes me, as they lie scattered on my beaches.
All this while I await your questionable arrival.
Traveling to bed
Walking backwards from here to old white pajamas and bears,
dropping shoes, shirts, and pants along the way,
all fashionable but unnecessary,
ending up four feet tall,
in a vast bed placed in the middle of a sunlit spring field with exaggerated color big enough for four or more,
rolling in the morning over crumbs from a shared breakfast of buttered sweet bread and fruit cakes,
the tiny stains from blackberry wine.
If no one else at least May was here,
her blue cape too smooth for anything I could ever think up.