from Frivolous and Pastiche
I met the original twins from
Siam.
I Dream was one, the other I Am.
Is that joy creeping
up the back of my spine like
a grateful chipmunk?
From the lofty pine
to the lowly shrub
the woods are alive
with a joysome hubbub.
The cherry bloomed late this year
in Osaka.
Maybe that's why the patch of
snow
Underneath the Oldsmobile
Reminds me of my grandmother.
It's the time of month when
little things
can drive our moods through
violent swings.
We'll remember always
menstruation day.
The throbbing pains, the bloody
stains,
the bloating and the weight we've
gained.
We'll remember always
menstruation day.
Living with a ski bum,
wish he felt these cramps.
One more month of freedom,
knowing I'll fit inside these
pants.
I shed a tear, there's one less
egg,
a drop of blood runs down my leg.
We'll remember always
menstruation day.
Living with a ski bum,
wish he felt these cramps.
One more month of freedom,
knowing I'll fit inside these
pants.
I shed a tear, there's one less
egg,
a drop of blood runs down my leg.
We'll remember always
menstruation day.
Solid Things-are made of Wood-
Flimsy Things-of Should-
Yet Guilt-like Ice-can crack a
Stone-
Once it's tempted-to be good!
To say that A is like B is to
suddenly see
that A likes B and wants to be
a bit more like it; that A,
straight-backed, erect,
pre-eminent and linear,
secretly longs for the broken
curves of B.
To resemble is to desire,
to arc brightly and helplessly
over the emptiness between
the two of you, like a
caterpillar
nuzzling the air in the hope that
it will turn solid,
and nuzzle back,
electric as thought arcing
from neuron to dendrite,
the thought of this caterpillar
and every thought,
every sensation, every desire,
especially the desire
for the recognition of
resemblance
in a world where every similarity
hangs burning in the air.
A is like B.
Very well.
But what exactly is the itinerary
when we set out from A to arrive
at B?
First, pull down on the right leg
of A until it's long enough to
bow back
and touch the tip of its left
leg.
Then shove the whole thing
backward
so its spine is vertical.
Then scoop out the pair of
apertures
you have and -- guess what?
You've got a B.
You've got to believe you're what
you're not
in order to become what you
really are,
remembering that R is just a B
reminiscing about when it was
just an A.
Behind a loose stone in the wall
of Thor Ballylee, the castle belonging to the late,
great Irish poet William Butler Yeats, scholars
recently discovered a dusty notebook entitled
"Pigskin Prophecies." Among its works is what
appears to be an early, previously unknown draft of his
famous poem "The Second Coming." - Ed.
Turning and turning in the
widening gyre
The Falcons' tight end cannot
hear the quarterback;
The play falls apart; the centre
of the line cannot hold;
Dick Butkus is loosed upon the
world,
The Crimson Tide is loosed, and
everywhere
The ceremony of calling time out
is abused;
The best teams lack a running
game, while the worst
Are full of infantile and
bombastic gestures.
Surely some penalty is at hand;
Surely The Secondary is at hand.
The Secondary! Hardly are the
words out
When a vast image out of Sports
Illustrated
Troubles my sight: somewhere in
the backfield
A shape with Lions' uniform and
the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the
sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while
all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant
Seahawks.
The noise level drops again; but
now I know
That sixty minutes of stony
football
Were vexed to nightmare by a
postgame show,
And what rough linebacker, his
hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Howard Cosell to
be interviewed?
God knows this haggis is no
Grecian urn
but a simple bag that’s
filled with meat.
And He knows our simple hearts
are filled with love
as we greet the memory of Robert
Burns.
It should be easy
trying to write a haiku
about spring training.
Fain Such (by Bob Eldridge and David Reiser, for
Alec Solomita)
Fain such, fit leprechaun,
Hitherto, and then anon.
