• csalisbury
    2.6k
    New Poem: Märchenbilder
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    Es war einmal...No, it's too heavy
    To be said. Besides, you aren't paying attention any more.
    How shall I put it?
    "The rain thundered on the uneven red flagstones.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    The steadfast tin soldier gazed beyond the drops
    Remembering the hat-shaped paper boat, that soon..."
    That's not it either.
    Think about the long summer evenings of the past, the queen anne's lace.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    Sometimes a musical phrase would perfectly sum up
    The mood of a moment. One of those lovelorn sonatas
    For wind instruments was riding past on a solemn white horse.
    Everybody wondered who the new arrival was.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    Pomp of flowers, decorations
    Junked next day. Now look out of the window.
    The sky is clear and bland. The wrong kind of day
    For business or games, or betting on a sure thing.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    The trees weep drops
    Into the water at night. Slowly couples gather.
    She looks into his eyes. "It would not be good
    To be left alone." He: I'll stay
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    As long as the night allows" This was one of those night
    rainbows
    In negative color. As we advance, it retreats; we see
    We are now far into a cave, must be. Yet there seems to be
    Trees all around, and a wind lifts their leaves, slightly.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    I want to go back, out of the bad stories,
    But there's always the possibility that the next one...
    No, it's another almond tree, or a ring-swallowing frog
    Yet they are beautiful as we people them
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    With ourselves. They are empty as cupboards.
    To spend whole days drenched in them, waiting for the next whisper,
    For the word in the next room. This is how the princes must have behaved,
    Lying down in the frugality of sleep.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    [end of poem]
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    new poem: City Afternoon
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    A veil of haze protects this
    Long-ago afternoon forgotten by everybody
    In this photograph, most of them now
    Sucked screaming through old age and death.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    If one could seize America
    Or at least a fine forgetfulness
    That seeps into our outline
    Defining our volumes with a stain
    That is fleeting too
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    But commemorates
    Because it does define, after all:
    Gray garlands, that threesome
    Waiting for the light to change,
    Air lifting the hair of one
    Upside down in the reflecting pool.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    [end of poem]
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    New Poem : Robin Hood's Barn
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    This would be the day: a few small drops of rain,
    A dab of this, a touch of eau-de-cologne air
    As long as it's suggestive. And it
    Mounts, a serenade, to the surrounding
    Love. You bad birds,
    But God shall not punish you, you
    Shall be with us in heaven, though less
    Conscious of your happiness, perhaps, than we.
    Hell is a not quite satisfactory heaven, probably,
    But you are the fruit and jewels
    Of my arrangements: O be with me!
    Forget stand-offishness, exact
    Bookkeeping of harsh terms! The banal
    Sun is about to creep across heaven on its
    Daily turn: don't let it find us arguing
    Or worse, alone, each
    Having turned his back to the other,
    Alone in the wonderful solitude
    Of the new day. To be there
    Is not to know it, its outline
    Creeps up on you, and then it has fallen over you
    Like bedclothes of fog.
    From some serene, high table
    Set near the top of a flight of stairs
    Come once and for all into our
    Consideration though it be flat like lemonade.
    The rest that is dreamed is as the husk
    Of this feast on the damp ground.
    As I was turning to say something to her she sped by me
    Which meant all is over in a few years: twenty-six, twenty-seven,
    Who were those people
    Who came down to the boat and met us that time?
    And your young years become a kind of clay
    Out of which the older, more rounded and also brusquer
    Retort is fashioned, the greeting
    That takes you into night
    Like a lantern up ahead:
    The "Where were you"s; meanwhile
    The dark is waiting like so many other things,
    Dumbness and voluptuousness among them.
    It is good to be part of it
    In the dream that is the kernel
    Deep in it, the unpretentious, unblushing,
    But also the steep side stretching far away:
    For this we pay, for this
    Tonight and every night.
    But for the time being we are free
    And meanwhile the songs
    Protect us, in a way, and the special climate.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    [end of poem]
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    New Poem : All and Some
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    And for those who understand:
    We shifted the day, until there was no more
    Coming out of the situation we had so imitated.
    And now we had talked of it
    Not as a human being, deeply polite and intelligent
    Coming forward to speak things of dark concern
    But as a merely interesting description of itself.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    Thus all good intentions remain puny
    Consigned as they are to the cold dews
    And nagging climates of a life's blood.
    Does grave dawn drape in a pattern of convolvulus
    The next noon alters, dim or baldly untragic
    Until the pattern comes to seem no more than footsteps,
    Dry and gay, doting on the old-fashioned, the mensual.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    "Climate" isn't a sign, but it could be
    A by-product, an anonymous blue-collar suburb
    In the great mildness that has taken over the air
    With snapping cogs, deft reversals.
    The blinded sun's got to answer for this
    But meanwhile the housing's been built
    And actually moved into, some of it.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    But what I mean is there's no excuse
    For always deducing the general from particulars,
    Like spots on that sun. How many
    Helpless wails have slid out orchestras
    Across skittery dance floors until even
    The dancers were there, waltzing lamely at first
    But now static and buzzing like plaid? No one
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    Cares or uses the little station any more.
    They are too young to remember
    How it was when the late trains came in.
    Violet sky grazing the gray hill-crests.
    What laziness of appetite
    Kept the buzzards circling, and when the dawn came
    Up it did so on four wheels, without excuses or fuss.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    It is impossible to picture the firmness
    Of relationships then. The slack
    Was by definition taken up, and so
    Everything was useful. People died
    Delighted with the long wait,
    Exhaled brief words into the afternoon, the hills:
    Then sweetness was knocked down for the last time.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    Do you remember how we used to gather
    The woodruff, the woodruff? But all things
    Cannot be emblazoned, but surely many
    Can, and those few devoted
    By a caprice beyond the majesty
    Of time's maw live happy useful lives
    Unaware that the universe is a vast incubator.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    To sense this clearly is not to know it, alas -
    Today the directions arrive from many separated realms
    Conjoining at the place of a bare pedestal.
    Too many armies, too many dreams, and that's
    It. Goodbye, you say, until next time
    And I build our climate until next time
    But the sky frowns, and the work gets completed in a dream.
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    [end of poem]
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    New poem: Oleum Misericordiae
  • csalisbury
    2.6k
    To rub it out, make it less virulent
    And a stab too at rearranging
    The whole thing from the ground up.
    Yes we were waiting just now
    Yes we are no longer waiting.
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