Thursday, March 04, 2010

Serious Snow

The Kieth porch after yesterday's snow dump

—William Bronk

Only bones are as bare as sumach
with its leaves gone. Every leaf was a branch.

Remember sumach in summer with its leaves
fern-soft, and its high fruit

Blood-warm in color. Sumach in autumn
was a sustained intensity, purple-red.

Winter defines the frame of color.
Here are the antlered bones.


—Shawn Aveningo, Rescue

Why do I take the time to examine every quarter’s backside
when the cashier hands me my change,
yet I can’t seem to remember to deposit the check
which has sunk to the bottom of my purse?

Why do I collect an armful of pretty poplin sundresses,
only to retreat to the dressing room, look in the mirror,
decide not to even bother, and escape before
they find I’ve vanished from behind the curtain?

Why do have a drawer full of lipsticks:
radiant mauve, drumbeat red, crimson romance, cool watermelon,
yet always wear the same shade, Cover Girl #912, every single day?
It doesn’t even have a cool name!

Why do I sunbathe and curse my wrinkles and tan-lines?
Why do I eat gooey-butter cake and curse the bathroom scale?
Why do people never say what they really mean?
Why do I always say “yes”, when inside I’m screaming “no”?

Why can’t I be the one you fell in love with first?


—Paul Lojeski, Port Jefferson, NY

Often I wonder why after Civil
War Lincoln allowed South still
in Union to be. Why were vultures
let loose to feed centuries more

on body of hope? Stuck here, then,
with birther, tenther, right-wing
Neanderthals chortling violence
and crystal-meth mayhem

on behalf of Confederate racist
hate, theocratic apocalyptic
acolytes pounding again at castle
gate. Hear their wretched

death-threat bawls cutting dawn,
choking night, stealing light,
No more turning away,
no more, no more!


—Paul Lojeski

My best friend Gluttony’s
got me good and fat.
He ordered me to go
to the bakery right now

and buy a dozen Danish,
a chocolate cake,
chocolate chip cookies,
a cheese cake,

and a blueberry pie.
I’m fighting the urge,
I am, but I’m weak,
flung upon this delicate

web without will or spine,
so I’m rising and moving
towards the door like a robot,
chanting desperately:
No more cookies
No more cookies
No more cookies.


—Paul Lojeski

Of course, I’m mistaken.
Just another old fool
of the loony Left
lost in emotional

paradigms sweeping
blue black space,
delusions of delusions:
a place of peace,

living of a dream,
a memory hallucinating
upon a child’s face,
mine smiling back

when under the old
maple leaning over
our backyard.
Those were the days.


—Paul Lojeski

Legs kick, toes tap, night
spins, trumpet pops,

piano jumps, sax screams,
drums shuffle, mars

shakes, dreams frenzy.
Baby, let's swing!



the female DJ said on the college
radio station on the second day
of a three day winter reggae
Groove grooving the North Shore,

me smiling tapping my fingers
on the wheel going yeah, baby,
yeah, thinking we’d all be blasting
if the splif was legal, zooming

the vibe of Vibes always but but
but ain’t gonna happen anytime
soon, so gotta move the groove
of Grooves onto another track of

flying brain high vibe of Vibes
digging It for what It is, no fighting
the light, let It come restless
relentlessly overwhelming senses.

—Paul Lojeski


Today's LittleNip:

—A.R. Ammons

The snow polished
hard after

the squirrel's
scratchy paws on

ice sound like
my shoes'
scritchy squish.



(with thanks to Shawn Aveningo for her Why poem, and to Paul Lojeski for sending us five from the land of serious snow)