“Tonight, a Silent Message”
Tonight, a silent message, I can hear the pleading
Through the trees and branches of my old friend; my companion sings,
And I am somehow comforted. The fluttering of wings
Accompanies the rhythms of the encore; and you, again, repeating
“Into…” “Out of…” Lift, release so softly,
gentle summaries wreathed in whispers,
Musings of what is not and never seen; tunnels and their tributaries,
Rushing, relentless repetition, applause, obituaries
To the spent and useless, harbingers of blisters
And the frostbite, erosion and fresh volcanic flood
And in the ancient chanting of a million
Dirges of the past and now redundant death–civilians,
Now–the arm’d legions follow closely through the blood
Of daily martyrs to the rescue in defense the furthest reaches of the empire.
And I’m still here, I’m still here, and I still feel the fire.
“Take a Number”
“Take a number,” someone whispered in the night,” any one
Will do!” and come to think of it, it happened to be true..
They’ll dine in or out or perhaps linger in that long blue
Moment in the atrium, or then again, they’ll take the sun
At midnight or take the stairs and skip the banister. They’ll taste
The wine gone flat; and why not? That is, of course, unless they’ve read the signs
In time to outwit the posse just a little forward in the line
From where they are to where they’re surely going. The race
Is on, you see, to falter willy nilly at the altar, to settle the bill,
Unzip the lining of the thing, pick up the ball
And run like hell through the side booth in the kitchen, down the hall,
Turn and cash in their chips on the spot. The cogent thrill
Is gone, perhaps, but not the will, and if they’ve read the bulbs correctly,
They’ll never reach the pantry door directly.
Posted in Altar, Atrium, Ball, Banister, Bill, Booth, Bulbs, Chips, Kitchen, Lining, Long blue line, Midnight, Numbers, Pantry, Poetry, Race, Stairs, Sun, Thrill, Whispers, Will, Willy nilly, Wine
Tagged Age, Aging, Imagery, Imagism, Lyric Poetry, Relationships, Sonnet, Sonnets