June 2010
12 posts
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Belle. (by urbanhaiku)
urbanhaiku: non-haiku sunday
Her Southern voice trailed around my throat.
It took her eons to say anything.
I waited patiently, staring.
Expressionless.
It wasn’t until the question she finally asked deliberately choked any answer I may have had.
I paused: rattling off the bad news in my California accent.
Her goodbye took a few painful minutes.
I heard what she said under her breath; it...
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Monet Refuses the Operation
Doctor, you say that there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don’t see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so...
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domestic watercolourist
nothing like watching Hoarding: buried alive and then finding yourself frantically cleaning pre-tour laundry up and putting it away. one piece of costume-filled luggage at a time? there’s always some poem-moments in these tv shows for me, something about the personal belongings/faux treasure voyeurism, how people fill rooms of their homes with tools/stuff to DO things with— but...
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“Stevens’ individuality is breathtaking. Ultimately, of all the moderns,...”
– from “Wallace Stevens, What’s He Done? Meditiation and the Narrative.” The Reaper Essays. Mark Jarman & Robert McDowell.
this book is keeping me on my poetry toes in the best/worst way. oh man. it’s intense.
