Monday, October 15, 2007

As yet, untitled

He who pulled paragraph like espresso
died of old age with a thousand
boxes of bound alphabet in his shed.

Periods are enemies he would tell us
and semi-colons, a constipation.

Believe in exclamation!
Personalize, comma.

Guard the little swatch
of fabric you find in grasses,
imagining it as scarf or chemise.

Read it like a basket.

Invite grasshoppers and crickets to the critique.
And, if they sing you will know it is good.

Trust the line.
Trust the hem.
Trust the wind-step whisking.
Trust the song of thyself.

Stand on your shaky metaphors
until bullfrog leaps from lotus—
generosity burning wellspring in your cheeks.


Mental Produce said...

You and RR have some subtle ability with which (it appears to me) you are able to perform a linguistic two-step and make it look like a waltz.

Meanwhile, I am stuck subjecting myself to the academic vernacular. I am getting anxious to free my words.

Again Shari, a beautiful poem, wrapped in its untitled glory.


Mark said...

Yup, well done! Reminds me of cummings poem about leafs. Constructed and yet effortless.

rr said...

This poem reminds of me of the glass bead game, with its rules and subtleties; as if it were a companion piece to the textbook for an advanced linguistics course...?

I have been thinking about publishing; would really like to pursue a topic; I like the idea of writing the unwritten letters of charles darwin, I have more ideas for the piece, but it could also be a soliloquy if you had someone in mind you would write the unwritten letters for. (how egotistical and smug am I?)
If nothing else it is a good mental exercise.