The Gymnasts
(from a photograph by Richard Kalvar entitled
Somersaults-in-Long Island)
Three children on a playing field
navigate their independence.
Center back, near the chain link fence,
a girl leaves an imprint in mid-air.
Her legs extend to an acute-angled V of inequality.
Tilting, she supports the weight of her lithe summer body,
her hands unevenly planted on the grass,
a testament to her untapped determination.
To the left, a boy lands flat on his back and buttocks.
His legs have not yet capitulated: he is holding them up in the air,
knees bent, the soles of his feet bleached white,
as he rebuilds his stability.
To the right, near the edge of the frame, the smallest of the flock,
lies on her side, her legs apart, her hands hallowing the grass.
She is resting after her tumble, the ribbon on her print dress,
strings on a parachute.
Indelible moment when children test pilot their bodies
on flights of their own making.
Munro
(Fiction Coming to Life or a Life Mirrored in Fiction)
I
Family secrets –
a nest of wild bird eggs
buried and abandoned
under matted straw.
Incriminations denials
crack the back porch wall
of a daughter’s summer vacation
shatter the length width
and bone of her womanhood
the scent of her stepfather
sealing the close violated air
of her bedroom.
II
Silence deepens
as the printed pages roll
Auteur, luminary with the sharpest eye
and a bloodhound’s nose
for revealing human frailty.
III
Beloved among literary icons
Munro’s trophy is set on a marble base
and truth withheld in a mass media cover
till a spade breaks the still grass plot
its blade plunging through the tangle of roots
the sanctity of motherhood
to muddy, deface
the sublimely crafted anatomy
of story.
Prayer for the Undeserving
sing a hymn for the troubled world
for tyrannies that rage and rampage
under the banner of their brand of God
each claiming prime share of the heavens
a single shining truth
each with its army of believers,
followers, stragglers
their devoted and dismayed
some who adhere too closely to the word
their very breath fraying the sacred page
some who malign the word
till it turns dark and disfigured
some who scan for the gist of the word
claiming hard-earned wisdom of its meaning
some who dispense with the word
like lint off their shoulders
a cornucopia of voices
its pitch ever rising
without a center upon which to rest
and build
a tower of misanthropes
the biblical rabble from whom
we all descend
Turning Points
Ignite the ordinary
and the flicker of a flame
can fan a bonfire
in the imaginative chain
Hone in on the dusk
as the shutters half-close
When the rim of the dawn’s
These are superb poems. I especially like the engaging lyricism of “Turning Points” and the powerful “Munro” which questions the tension between biography and art.
ReplyDeleteThese poems are superb. I especially like the engaging lyricism of “Turning Points “ and the powerful “Munro” with its tension between art and biography.
ReplyDelete