💾 Archived View for tilde.pink › ~rjcks › poems › denise.gmi captured on 2022-04-28 at 17:26:46. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
⬅️ Previous capture (2022-01-08)
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
I imagine Denise Levertov hanging
a pair of red knickers out to dry
solitary on a wire: the house bunting
laughs and sings its early morning office,
the swifts rise on the warming air, across
the rooftops the kestrel calls to the hunt,
and as the noise from the restless street grows,
the day begins and the wire is bare.
She hoists a white-flag, calling for a truce,
and so I read and I read and I read,
congruences cascading around me,
ice-cold enervating flashes of insight,
then the roar of the nubian lion
foregrounds a piece or two of poetic truth,
And Leo Bloom shuffles off, searching
the secondhand bookstalls for a woman's love.
From the shadows beneath the pines and firs
on the black mountain the muted bigfoot
groans, pondering also the meaning
in his inarticulate angst, longing,
desire beyond sensuous copulation,
beyond a dream of artistic bonding,
exchanging verses and sentimental
embrace on a rug by the crackling logs
in a tenured poetic retreat,
beyond any written record
of the sacred dance of yin and yang:
turning a page or two of the book of life,
then stepping out onto the street,
where a ferret of a man scurries past
holding a small handmade wooden cage
with perched on top a young kestrel,
no panic in its eyes, but an interest,
a fierce attention to the way ahead.
[2021-07-13 Tue]