July 1.22: Coping, but barely

In crowded company

of musicians through the ages,

I’ve fumbled in attempts

to play while turning pages.

More than once I’ve chased

sonatas to the floor,

twisting off the bench

to nab the fleeing score.

Flagrantly contrary,

it always had the knack

to land so I’d dislodge

my sacroiliac.

To keep the left hand going

and play at obtuse angle

crossed Mozart with aerobics,

performance art fandangle.

Now comes a pageless music,

no flip and fumble here —

what a total wimp-out,

musicianship veneer.

What kind of ease is this?

It seems somehow a cheat

to keep your fingers focused,

turning pages with your feet.

 

 

More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.

 

January 12.22: Coping

How yellowed the page,

how heavy the book,

how delightfully free

of click-bait and hook.

Not a single commercial

intrudes on my search,

sending my thoughts

to spiral and lurch;

I keep to my hunt

for elusive right word

without the distraction

of the marketing herd.

No windows to shout

and peddle their wares,

no storming my brain

with visual fanfares,

just simple bland columns,

neat and precise,

of calm worded world

etymologically nice.

 

Yes, dear reader, I flip through these pages knowing full well that there are words right now for things unknown when these books were new. I turn to them, nonetheless, as I wage my own little war to think in a straight line, and not be pulled into impossible elliptical thinking by all the pop-ups.

 

 

December 23.20: Coping

Little fingers

leave a trail

made of paper

bent and frail;

older hands preserve

the mystery

of taped and crayoned

family history.

 

 

Connections: April 21

Tuck this in your docket

a poem for your pocket

a sonnet for your vest

or line of anapest

today in bits of paper

in literary caper

we raise a silent cry

against the plain and dry

and summon muses hence

with their accoutrements

metaphor and simile

rhythm light and nimble-y

poetry’s declaration

of determined preservation.

Happy Poem-In-Your-Pocket Day, dear reader!

Connections

Connections: January 24

Sunless winter day

matte

flat

in want of shadow’s lavender

yet papery flounces

pastel gild

like wash of watercolor.

Connections

Change of life

paper petals
ochre dust
yesterday’s tokens
faded troth
but troth still:
change is not
promise broken

stems crack
leaves crumble
into tingly wind —
Puritan greys
one Hester scarlet
swirled into whispered whistle
a sly din
restive air
crowded with dry voices

knavery!
softly pliant
summer bloom
into leaf crackle
twig snap
hollow wind moan

scuttling city
racing
mid-air
underfoot —
burrowed
denned
tree’d —
wait for me