To the Creator of Jelly Beans
When you concocted these polished candies,
What made you think of beans? I’m convinced
That Jack and the Beanstalk inspired you to read
The handful of primary-coloured pebbles as
Capable of sprouting magical, sugared folklore.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009: On the Street….West 21st, NYC
Her bag was heavy with glasses she’d taken
From pubs, textbooks for astronomy left
On the blue felt bus seat, tarnished spoons
She planned to bend into bracelets and rings.
A hand knit purple scarf, matted as a stray cat.
Three matchbooks. A small stone.
Her bag was unraveling, breaking,
So much did she burn to rescue something.
From pubs, textbooks for astronomy left
On the blue felt bus seat, tarnished spoons
She planned to bend into bracelets and rings.
A hand knit purple scarf, matted as a stray cat.
Three matchbooks. A small stone.
Her bag was unraveling, breaking,
So much did she burn to rescue something.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009: On the Street….Dries Skirt, NYC
Here’s what she did with the etch-a-sketch you bought her.
For ten minutes, thirty minutes, an hour, she twisted
And rolled the white knobs fervently. She imagined
The circular controls on her grandmother’s TV, dialed
In some distant, fuzzy station. She wasn’t creating an image.
With each click and adjustment of the knobs, she removed
Every particle of sand adhering to the screen. When all
The screen was black (or clear, and allowed the black
Of the back to show), she saw it, the instrument
(a needle, a claw hooked to a plastic arm) responsible
For drawing shaky dark lines (drawing by removing,
Creating through erasing, scraping, deleting).
For ten minutes, thirty minutes, an hour, she twisted
And rolled the white knobs fervently. She imagined
The circular controls on her grandmother’s TV, dialed
In some distant, fuzzy station. She wasn’t creating an image.
With each click and adjustment of the knobs, she removed
Every particle of sand adhering to the screen. When all
The screen was black (or clear, and allowed the black
Of the back to show), she saw it, the instrument
(a needle, a claw hooked to a plastic arm) responsible
For drawing shaky dark lines (drawing by removing,
Creating through erasing, scraping, deleting).
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009: On the Street….Print Coat, Paris
When the tide ran low, an alien terrain revealed itself.
Slick sticks of sea kelp, spiky green glued to the shelf
Of the lake’s stone walls. Swamplike, otherworldly,
The wet plantlife shivered in air and sun. Jagged, pearly
Clamshells dotted the rocks, bone-pale, ominous.
A bearded man hung a line and hook into this mess.
What did he hope to catch, in that shallow patch of sea.
Some exposed creature, ocean-skinned, unearthly?
Slick sticks of sea kelp, spiky green glued to the shelf
Of the lake’s stone walls. Swamplike, otherworldly,
The wet plantlife shivered in air and sun. Jagged, pearly
Clamshells dotted the rocks, bone-pale, ominous.
A bearded man hung a line and hook into this mess.
What did he hope to catch, in that shallow patch of sea.
Some exposed creature, ocean-skinned, unearthly?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009: On the Street….Jacques, Paris
Body Language
One arm bent at the elbow, across the chest,
Palm up, fingers gently extending, like a tuxedoed
Waiter or butler with ivory tea towel halved and hung
On the bar of his forearm=Well, you see…
The forward, rounded hunch of shoulders
Leaning away from the chair’s hard frame
Not fully resting in the seat, like a stiff handkerchief
Tucked into a chest pocket=How amusing, why would he…
One arm bent at the elbow, across the chest,
Palm up, fingers gently extending, like a tuxedoed
Waiter or butler with ivory tea towel halved and hung
On the bar of his forearm=Well, you see…
The forward, rounded hunch of shoulders
Leaning away from the chair’s hard frame
Not fully resting in the seat, like a stiff handkerchief
Tucked into a chest pocket=How amusing, why would he…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)