Art – Page 7 – Bonnie McClellan-Broussard

List: I’m just the type…

I'm just the type for whom
no end is suffix (ient):
tap (drip, drip, drip)
where is the beer, the syrup, the flow in this day?
clip (ed) to the
dock 
     do I mean to to say kissed where my ship comes in
     or pinned to the dry velvet of a leaf?

finish (ed)
board (ing)
     shall I wave my handkerchief as I sail off
     or thank the landlady for lunch as I wipe my lips
     sliding my legs across the polished wood?

I must be at least two tired to get anywhere,
    looking in wonder through the iris
    that will bear
    up under
    the snow.

TENDER: for Paul Squires (in memorium)

“I miss you and I wanted to write / you a letter to tell you I miss you / but there is no silence / like hello unanswered”

Paul Squires from: “A Small Boy Holding Flowers“

TENDER

What is paid?
What is offered?
How is that spot
when pushed?
What are we looking after?

Caulonian Suite: II. Caulonia Supriore

CAULONIA SUPERIORE

for Matthew

The sky roils;

swallows knit webbed gyres

among the baroque sag of rooftops.

Across the way they’re fixing one;

new russet barrel tiles sealed over

old timber bones.

I hear a sound like the pounding

Of a battering ram or the cleaving

Of an immense stump

Contrapunted with a loud HUP.

My daughter sleeps with the abandon

of an unfettered shutter swinging in a stiff wind.

A woman in her fifties climbs the stairs

to the house where she and my daughter

were both conceived.

We regard each other with

that part of the eye

which admits an alternate aim.

The pounding stops.

The church bells go off

with the percussive invective

of a fire alarm

DANGATIDANGATIDANGDANGDANG.

They say it’s peculiar to here:

someone sounds the bell

not with the pull of a knotted rope

but with the unlevered force of arms.

This is the second in a suite of poems about Caulonia Supiore

IPM 2MX…Where have all the poems gone?

International Poetry Month 2010 is now closed. The marauding hordes left the library ablaze, the flood washed away the ashes, the caravan carrying the last copy of the precious poetry collection has vanished in the desert.

What remains is the oral tradition; I have made audio files of each poem available where the poem used to be posted. There is also the possibility that a copy of some of these works still exist in the archives of the poets themselves. Anyone who is on my e-mail list has a ‘fragment’ of each work. Perhaps, like the poems of Sappho, this is all that will remain.

I would like to extend my profound thanks to the following guest poets for their contributions:

Anonymous 21st cent. Italian Poet

Adina Richman

Jere Schaefer

Several of these poets have blogs where new poetry may be encountered. I encourage anyone suffering from poetry withdrawal to visit these sites by clicking on any of the names that appear in colour.

Thanks as well to everyone who has stopped by to read and comment on the posted work. It has been a real joy to present so much fine poetry this year. Now I have to start thinking about next year, and as my sweetheart reminded me this morning, get back to writing.

A presto!