Horns of Life Poem by Seymour Shubin

horns of life

horns of life

Horns of Life

It was evening and the first
of the horns could be heard
In the distance
And my brother Aaron barely sixteen
Was going out with a friend
And Aaron would be driving
And I’d be left alone
At home
My parents were going out
Too
And just as he was leaving
Aaron said
Would you like to come with
And oh boy would I
And so I sat in back
Aaron driving
Irving next him.
And first we went to a movie
And then for a fairly long drive
And we stopped somewhere for hot dogs,
And I loved the sound of horns in the distance,
As though announcing the best New Years of my life
And now of my thoughts
With Aaron long dead
And all of my friends
And I think of the horns
Echoing over Aaron’s grave
I only wish
He could hear them
Oh if he could hear them
With me.

***Photo from the caves in Lascaux in southwestern France

Beryllium poem by Janet Kuypers

Beryllium

Janet Kuypers

from the “ Periodic Table of Poetry” series

I’ve wanted you with me.
I’ve paid for fragments of you,
spending what I could at the
Gem and Jewelry show for years,
because all I could afford of you
was aquamarine glimmers of you,
blue like the endless sky above.

In that aquamarine sky above
I’d see you in high-speed aircraft,
I’d see the Universe with your space vehicles,
even travel the information superhighway
in your communication satellites, before
you’d try to bombard me with your missiles.

I’ve needed you with me,
because I hear you make things stronger,
and I’ve needed that for so long,
for so many years. I needed that.

And when I found someone
that dated me for years, that
I thought I had a future with,
I took him with me to get your
green brilliance, wrap you around my neck,
wrap you around my finger. Frame you
in diamonds and gold, I’d do
whatever I could to get you.

Your emerald brilliance,
your aquamarine brilliance,
is what draws me to you, still.

I know it’s irrational, my desire for you,
I know that I don’t need you,
but you have been the window for me
to all of the things inside of me, and even
to everything beyond this world.
But with your colorful brilliance,
you give the world strength, you help me
see everything truly inside of me, help me
communicate with the world, even get me
beyond the confines of this world
When I lay it all out for you this way,
you have to understand
my attraction to you.
You have to understand
my desire for you.
I know, doctors say
I don’t need you,
but in a way, I do.
So I just wanted you to
understand
my seemingly
irrational need.

Why I Should Poem

Why I Should Poem

Why I Should Poem

Why I Should

Because I still breathe
because I have something to say
even
if it is only me
Even if it’s only me
saying it to
me

Because the sun came up and the rivers flowed
and if feels good to say so

because it’s the end of a year
a new year and
and it felt good to say so

because I’m a crazy fool
who will spend his last penny
making something he likes
even if others throw it away

even if it rots in the back of an unknown book
even if it is forever an unknown song
even if it rots in a basement

so I will grab another handful
of colored sand
for whose works
are not
swept
away?

Why Should I Poem

Why Should I Poem

Why Should I

There are two points in every life

that is in the artist life

the point where the painting and words and music

and the person

are asking why

with a fire unlike any fire

and a point

where the artist or writer or musician

and person

is asking

why should I?

why should I?

I beat my primordial head

on this stone in this cave

why am I not hunting the elk

instead of scratching with this

blunt burnt stick

until my hands  are worn

and I beat on this stone with these hands

and this stick.

“Oh you have drawn the elk

we saw him this morning

but wasn’t his leg longer

and his horn had more points.”

what I saw

what I saw

what I saw

I do not understand

I cannot understand

Why should I?

 

david michael jackson

Maybe if you just express those moments they won’t stand in the way of the bigger why. Maybe. We’ll  see.

Egret Poem by Michael Estabrook

egret poem

egret poem

 

Egret

 

Tall gray bird, an egret I think, standing

in the shallows of a small pond over in

the fields behind the high school,

poised, quiet, elegant, intensely

focused, his head with its long beak

snapping suddenly like a whip

into the water, stabbing at one

of the innumerable, plump, brown

tadpoles beginning to kick their frog

legs. But he misses, comes up dry,

his beady eyes staring down

into the dark water, incredulous

at having missed and,

if I didn’t know better, a little

bit embarrassed about it too.

 

Egret © Michael Estabrook 2012