old poems refound
In no particular order, but all from 3 years ago or so. Some better than others. But all surprised me, pleasantly, as if someone else had written them.
7/30/02
He Drove Himself to the Hospital
There is no word for this time of waiting.
A father is with you.
Not with you for a lifetime.
He is a mystery man to the little girl
he used to twirl In the air.
A self made merry go round
That made you laugh till you cried.
I see him always behind
The wheel of a car.
He is a dr iving man,
A digging man
His hand on a shovel or a
A hammer or a saw
Driving a car or a nail
As if trying to escape
some truth always at his heels.
Thursday September 5, 2002
If I had all the time
And money
In the world
I would take long walks
In the wilderness
Write poems
Read books,
make many things
With my hands and give them all away
Like blessings.
I would go to school
For literature and art
philosophy and anthropology.
I would visit every museum in the world.
I would wander my life away
Searching for guides,
And voices more interesting
To my ears than my own.
I would listen to the stories
Of those who have not yet been heard
And quiet those who have told and spoken too much
Of no consequence.
I would learn to speak and be more quietly,
Walk more slowly,
Be still in even my most sudden movements.
I would study the sky,
From sun up into the deep dark night
Through to the dawn.
I would learn its language
And teach it to children who have forgotten
To see faces in clouds and lifetimes in the twinkle of a star.
I would walk barefoot,
Swim naked,
Never go home, and always return.
I would sit beneath trees and dream the world awake.
I would go into office buildings
Open the doors and let everyone out,
I would tell them all to go home now,
And write a poem about
What they would do if
They had all the time and money
In the world.
September 11 2002
The castle I’ve built around my soul
Since the towers came down
Have vines growing in the cracks
Inside I crumble still,
Clutch at the nothingness
In hope of lightways
Back to the beginning of myself
Before the undoing
Of wholeness,
before I was told
myself wasn’t enough and
Dreaming too big for my britches
And I too small
Yet slipped through some cracks
often unnoticed
slipped and fell
scarred but unharmed
a dip or two
great depths I fell
to new heights too
always alone
3pm Coffee Break
I find my grandmother
In cookies from Zaros
Wind Song for 3000
As if their spirits,
Tempest tossed,
And swirling still
In wreckage
Scattered branches
Lay like broken limbs
Across my lawn.
125th Street
Locusts grow where birds take flight.
Roof top, rooms, doors, ceilings no longer.
Seams where seeds took root.
Windows into yesterday.
As If I Had it All: The Cipriani Sandwich
September 3, 2002
It doesn’t take me
To Harry’s Bar in Venice,
But for a moment,
spread thick with tuna salad
and four perfect slices of green olive,
the rich buttery roll,
captures my tongue,
leaves me wanting nothing.
10.10.02
Oh yes like raking leaves
And tilling land and planting seeds
The moment one is done,
The task is once again begun.
There is never a thing so done
That is not again begun.
August 26, 2002
It was a morning
Of flight or fight
A flurry of rushing
Orders to fill instantly
And then,
As suddenly
As the wind
Picked up
It dropped us
Down without
Warning into
The doldrums
Of late afternoon
Lunch.
7/30/02
He Drove Himself to the Hospital
There is no word for this time of waiting.
A father is with you.
Not with you for a lifetime.
He is a mystery man to the little girl
he used to twirl In the air.
A self made merry go round
That made you laugh till you cried.
I see him always behind
The wheel of a car.
He is a dr iving man,
A digging man
His hand on a shovel or a
A hammer or a saw
Driving a car or a nail
As if trying to escape
some truth always at his heels.
Thursday September 5, 2002
If I had all the time
And money
In the world
I would take long walks
In the wilderness
Write poems
Read books,
make many things
With my hands and give them all away
Like blessings.
I would go to school
For literature and art
philosophy and anthropology.
I would visit every museum in the world.
I would wander my life away
Searching for guides,
And voices more interesting
To my ears than my own.
I would listen to the stories
Of those who have not yet been heard
And quiet those who have told and spoken too much
Of no consequence.
I would learn to speak and be more quietly,
Walk more slowly,
Be still in even my most sudden movements.
I would study the sky,
From sun up into the deep dark night
Through to the dawn.
I would learn its language
And teach it to children who have forgotten
To see faces in clouds and lifetimes in the twinkle of a star.
I would walk barefoot,
Swim naked,
Never go home, and always return.
I would sit beneath trees and dream the world awake.
I would go into office buildings
Open the doors and let everyone out,
I would tell them all to go home now,
And write a poem about
What they would do if
They had all the time and money
In the world.
September 11 2002
The castle I’ve built around my soul
Since the towers came down
Have vines growing in the cracks
Inside I crumble still,
Clutch at the nothingness
In hope of lightways
Back to the beginning of myself
Before the undoing
Of wholeness,
before I was told
myself wasn’t enough and
Dreaming too big for my britches
And I too small
Yet slipped through some cracks
often unnoticed
slipped and fell
scarred but unharmed
a dip or two
great depths I fell
to new heights too
always alone
3pm Coffee Break
I find my grandmother
In cookies from Zaros
Wind Song for 3000
As if their spirits,
Tempest tossed,
And swirling still
In wreckage
Scattered branches
Lay like broken limbs
Across my lawn.
125th Street
Locusts grow where birds take flight.
Roof top, rooms, doors, ceilings no longer.
Seams where seeds took root.
Windows into yesterday.
As If I Had it All: The Cipriani Sandwich
September 3, 2002
It doesn’t take me
To Harry’s Bar in Venice,
But for a moment,
spread thick with tuna salad
and four perfect slices of green olive,
the rich buttery roll,
captures my tongue,
leaves me wanting nothing.
10.10.02
Oh yes like raking leaves
And tilling land and planting seeds
The moment one is done,
The task is once again begun.
There is never a thing so done
That is not again begun.
August 26, 2002
It was a morning
Of flight or fight
A flurry of rushing
Orders to fill instantly
And then,
As suddenly
As the wind
Picked up
It dropped us
Down without
Warning into
The doldrums
Of late afternoon
Lunch.
posted by riva at 6:41 PM
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