Not built for long-term love excursions, she seeks a glimmer in a warmer gray—couldn’t draw a picture to convey her way through an open door. To fiddle with a lock and swing into a door jam is the extent of her inclination to reconfigure lines and what might get shaded inside. She’s not interested in [...]
Archive for the ‘Night Poems’ Category
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It Turns On
Posted: July 22, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: cache, lightning, Poetry, sirens, snuff bottle, tornado, traffic cones
a dime on the coffee bar tile floor to pick up, orange traffic cones inverted in the sidewalk to ponder. It’s a sign not to fall into warning funnels before predictions of tornado sirens blare over the radio. The handsome shop keeper who owns that caché tells me his beautiful dog sleeps behind the snuff [...]
Question of Property
Posted: July 20, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: Poetry, moon, channel, Jack Kerouac, Book of Blues, thief, "Orizaba 210 Blues", possession
“I almost called these poems Pickpocket Blues because they are the repetition by memory of earlier poems stolen from me b y t w e l v e t h i e v e s.” —Jack Kerouac, from the 2nd Chorus of “Orizaba 210 Blues” (Book of Blues) She doubts her bones [...]
Letter in a Mirror
Posted: July 19, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: Poetry, Isamu Noguchi, soul mate, Talking Heads, overdose, "Tainted Love", Studio 54
“Tainted Love” won’t hit you the way it did in 1982 when you came late to Studio 54. Always arriving early, you miss being the impact. Pregnant new wave singers, punk ones already overdosed, your phobia keeps you clean. You are one of the dirt eaters. We can tell by the lines on your finger [...]
Living Tower
Posted: July 18, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: Poetry, Isamu Noguchi, guardian angel, solar, jetty
Even if it was an option, it’s not an option to date your guardian angel, even an accidental one. You may believe you’ve exhausted them all, been pushed to the edge of the jetty—rocks everywhere sounding off a raucous laugh. But the one who guides you ashore cannot be the one to take you home [...]
Cell Phone Cyclops
Posted: July 9, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: camera, chronicler, dirt, Poetry
A camera placed in my hand for the first time in as long as a road of memory can wind into back woods, I’m an uncertain chronicler. Not sure how to make a record this way, not sure I want to tell a story. I might prefer to steal an image or two and retreat [...]
Ten Seconds
Posted: July 5, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: Poetry, footbridge, fireflies, little love affairs
At their best, these poems are little love affairs—fireflies bursting on a night scene to guide one solo walker to another for a single turn around the park and pause before the old iron footbridge to witness whatever the marsh north and pond south might offer up.
Destination Blues
Posted: July 4, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: nature, intersection, traffic light, accent
She can’t talk to nature the way nature talks to her through intersection traffic lights—take this turn, now that. Come home this route tonight. She can’t guess how a howling wind would translate on a mountainside but predicts her accent would never do.
Zapper
Posted: July 3, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: Poetry, fireflies, bug zapper, benefits
When streaks of white light death (instead of frenzied fireflies) interrupt the night sky, who can say which way the sun might set in a hundred years. Who can say this is it, or it isn’t the last chance to change my mind about those benefits offered when only darkness remains.
Inside His 50th Chorus
Posted: July 3, 2010 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: automatic, Book of Blues, converge, Jack Kerouac, Poetry, red, San Francisco Blues
“The guitar’s a-started Playing by itself.” —Jack Kerouac, from the 50th Chorus to “San Francisco Blues” (Book of Blues) Hot wind and time to be alone converge at an intersection I won’t remember tomorrow morning when light breaks open that hill behind me. The spillage will be automatic, will startle longing in shades of red. [...]
