I must learn how to describe each tiny movement from solid green to a yellow brushed with red breaking into orange without these blocks of language. I turn up the volume when this instrumental plays—sweet guitar sings vocal lines, the human voice at rest. Seductively rich baritone be still for these moments, while I work [...]
Archive for March, 2010
Listening to “Sandusky”
Posted: March 31, 2010 by Arambler in Civil Twilight or Dawn PoemsTags: bridge, instrumental, Poetry, Sandusky, soul, Uncle Tupelo
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Chiasmus
Posted: March 29, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: offering, Poetry, reversible raincoat
What if I were the one standing on a stage—you were below it, looking up at me? If it were as simple as reversing a spring trench coat, we would have pulled those sleeves through their fabric-framed sockets by now. And, still, these arms would not be long enough to extend my real offering to [...]
Self Curate
Posted: March 28, 2010 by Arambler in Overnight PoemsTags: ampersand, at symbol, infinity, museum, Poetry
If I were a museum, I would adopt the ampersand before at. Swirls of entanglement mean more to me than a spiraling into sense of place. If I can’t have home, I’ll take the plural loci, the many phases of identity, the journeys over arrival, options over commitment— the possibility of leaning into infinity.
Say the Word—Hotel
Posted: March 27, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: bonfire, hungover, journals, Poetry, rehab, sacrifice, take no heroes hotel
Hungover without a drink, journals are meant to be written— not read. Why does she keep them? Why toss them out? She could donate them to a sculptor who might rehab their pages into fiber and matter for a piece of public art. Would the characters she described, reconstituted, dreamed up back then want their [...]
Father of Minneapolis Parks
Posted: March 26, 2010 by Arambler in Civil Twilight or Dawn PoemsTags: Poetry, Loring Park, bad reputation, Dandelion Fountain, great blue heron, cherry sculpture, hero
The first in the city to have electric lights. A hinge to flex downtown lane over lane flung onto outdoor sculpture with a cherry on top. I’m at the bottom of this brown hill imagining a summer evening: Civil twilight and a great blue heron—my current hero’s plugging in near the Dandelion Fountain. He wouldn’t [...]
If I were a typo, I wouldn’t want to be discovered. I would hide in the middle paragraph in the middle of an incomplete thought You might create me, but you’ll never know me or the impact I might have on what they think of you, never mind me.
No Molesting Vegetation
Posted: March 24, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: aerate, artesian well, Loring Park, Minnesota winter, Poetry
I want to make a wish at an artesian well. Take me to the old comfort station near the 125-year-old iron footbridge. No longer providing relief to men, women, children passing by, it aerates the pond. Who will aerate me? From this curved history, I can see a pond in transition— half ice, half water [...]
It Being March in Loring Park
Posted: March 23, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: cattails, footbridge, gardener, Poetry
Cattails mashed and embedded in what’s left of the ice shield over the pond. Ducks float in the free flowing water, other birds hop along those complex layers of solid. I see that same old wooden wagon unhitched beside the iron footbridge. The gardener’s back. I’m circulating the park, making decisions, walking on.
Female Jonah
Posted: March 22, 2010 by Arambler in Morning PoemsTags: getaway, home, Poetry, U-Haul, yellow cab
A yellow cab double parked, medium-sized U-Haul behind it—I know these getaways too late, arrivals too early. When moving in becomes an art, it’s time to reconsider the vessel. Above or below it, I just want to crawl inside the belly of someone’s home—yours? Or, it could be mine.
