Vo-tech, high-rise stack of comic book spines, staples get removed. I’m not ready to give up Babel or what Borges said. I won’t slam.
Archive for the ‘Afternoon Poems’ Category
In Defense of Your Grandmother’s
Posted: July 29, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: Poetry, comic book, Borges, Babel, vo-tech, slams
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Avowal
Posted: July 23, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: Poetry, rose water, snuff bottle, peach, T.S. Eliot, berm, moat, ring
Do I dare—I do not— to buy a snuff bottle. Hand-painted, it comes in a small gold thread embroidered box with a latch. If a peach adorned its glass shell, would I then? Afraid to ask questions, I let wondering build a safety berm around my modern moat. What swims through my muck and murdered [...]
Letter to Another World
Posted: July 18, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: Poetry, bicycle, Emily Dickinson, soul mate, compress
Emily Dickinson’s soul mate rides a bicycle down my street. I can tell it’s him by the way he compresses his shoulders between parked and moving cars. Handsome and nimble, Emily, constant and quick.
Timing Still Is
Posted: July 11, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: bridge, farmers market, jack hammer, LaSalle/Blaisdell Bridge, Poetry
If she rushes, she can reach the farmers market before metal saw horses get collapsed, planks loaded onto the truck, leftover watermelon rolled away. If she slows down, she might catch a note or two trapped inside clouds from last night’s concert under the stars in collision with a 24-hour jack hammer breaking up a [...]
Dead Dragonfly
Posted: July 10, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: capture, digital camera, Poetry, rubbed off, thief
At rest in a crack in the sidewalk, you are my first outdoor capture. It’s a digital finale to a naturally 3D life. The green and purple beauty of your wings has not yet rubbed off. A flash of rain makes me scramble to protect my equipment. I slip it and the figment of you [...]
The car with Missouri plates parked outside my building is a great relief.
River Salvation
Posted: June 29, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: Poetry, mississippi river, roots, home, thirst, turtles, Stone Arch Bridge
Three turtles on the back of a fallen wish bone branch, I’m looking down river again. The chain of lakes does not captivate. Without an ocean, my roots go thirsting for a source deep in the mud. Home is wherever water carries forth that voice.
Another Circle Poem
Posted: June 13, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: Emily Dickinson, letter boxer, letter to the world, Poetry
Twenty-first century letter boxers jump the fence into a dog park, follow text messages on the tiniest chance they might match up all the clues leading them to the diamond ring treasure. I’m back one and a half centuries with Emily still writing “my letter to the World that never wrote to me.”
Circle Poem
Posted: June 13, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: bridge to nowhere, dog park, Loring Park, pay phone, Poetry
The last of the public pay phones, a dial tone to nowhere backwards in a dog park is a hunt for diamonds, is easier for some to fathom. Me, I don’t know how to wear them, am seeking other gems.
Connecting Flight
Posted: June 12, 2010 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: blues, Loring Park, pay phone, Peavey Plaza, Pinetop Perkins, Poetry, rain
Free to walk in the rain in a park—to imagine a dial tone from the sole remaining pay phone on the southeast corner where the sun might have crept in another afternoon. It might dry up in time for true blues on a plaza, for a baseball game to play out in a new stadium [...]
