From 2016-17.




Memories

It's the day before midnight
where I sit collecting evidence
of vanished springtimes,
of Aprils long past:
shells, shards, ships,
psalter of strange voyage.

Soda-crackers of an eremite,
box-tops, green stamps, bottle-caps,
World's Fair bookmarks from 1939,
dimestore postcards of La Scala Santa.

*

Cutpurse sonnets,
three for a buck ninety-nine
at the refugees' flea-market.

Bulletin from Belchertown:
dead-heads have havoc'd
the Malbec pioneers
of a corporate Yuletide.

Starveling, December
stutter-steps onto the catwalk
coiffured à la garçonne.

 

*

Over cups of mud at The Sunny Side,
codgers bicker and cuss.
"You have a fresh mouth, chief:
who died and made you Elvis?"

I leave these testy widowers
and lummox forth into a gust
of winter at her stiffest.

This wind is arctic and Emersonian,
subjunctive and sassy.

I go sowing frost-seeds
in the family snowgarden,
half-past-six o'clock shadow
on my larkish chin.





Poetry by Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 56 times
Written on 2022-05-19 at 02:41

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
I have to agree with OTP. He has said what I wanted to. The lines and words are a feast in themselves.
2022-05-19


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
You find so many ways of using rich, unique and personal images and lines, it's just plain fun reading your poetry. Can it be more fun than to read (for example):

Bulletin from Belchertown:
dead-heads have havoc'd
the Malbec pioneers
of a corporate Yuletide.

Starveling, December
stutter-steps onto the catwalk
coiffured à la garçonne.

`
2022-05-19