Regalia is tapestered fine things
Left beside ancient kings found
With tongues sticking and eyes
Popped thousands of years ago.
This is all poetry that is allowed
In street balladeer’s profession
Apposite towns where nothing
Happens to make big-size lives.
Madam poet had recognized him
As a clown he was, gilled like fish.
We have been clowning ever since.
Old age is now our clowning glory.
(Reference is to Sylvia Plath’s poem “You are” about her unborn baby)
Now Mark walks in a field
And finds his own absence,
The hole to make a whole.
He parts the air and helps it
Become a whole by his lack.
One makes whole by a hole.
(Reading Mark Strand’s poem Keeping Things whole)
His leg bloodied ,yet his arms strong
Captain soul senses horror of shade
But looks years in the face unafraid.
The years are not afraid in their eyes.
A dust does not bring tears to them,
Only snicker on the curve of the lip.
(We are talking about William Earnest Henley’s manly poem Invectus)
It looks like you and mom sit
In the hall waiting to happen
And food man goes on leave
But you stare at the red wall.
Time knows it in the red wall.
As you and mom wait in hall
Waiting for things to happen
Time will tell this and others.
The wall is time standing red.
Wall will choose when to tell.
She seems just a chit of a girl
Who achieves to be woman
A girl and a half, in a hollow,
For her new birth to be born
On stomach round as sphere .
And as she walks like breeze
A sea of emerald is shaping
Inside belly for ace swimmer
Who will burst from its aqua
To breathe a breeze outside.
We were other’s shadows born
From a fleeting glimpse of love
In darkness that would precede
Our own preternatural existence.
Shadows do not touch shadows.
They will stop waving on a wall
When we are dust and shadow
Of a shadowy former existence.