Poem of the Day
hand-to-hand pass
By Simone White
while the palms touch and digits suggestively link
so movement of the hands of each
does occur
while the palms touch and digits suggestively link
so movement of the hands of each
does occur
I will not, though I would, resolve,
As the New Year’s Eve comes on,
To do, not do, review, revolve
The shrouded figure struggling to break from the coffin;
The sea giving out muffled cries by night;
The black hose damning the wild river.
It seems no air or any other thing
Pretends to help; and you, defeated now,
But visibilities, your balm and clue,
He sits before me now, reptilian, cold,
Worn skeletal with sorrow for his child.
He would have lied to her, were he not old
Into the flaming peach she sped.
Passing through fastnesses of flesh
Down juicy channels.
Wasn’t the printing press itself a kind of
omen? Now it is clearer with reprinting:
the pocket Aquinas versus Lust
The bow bent remembers home long,
the years of its tree, the whine
of wind all night conditioning
The time is after dinner. Cigarettes
Glow on the lawn;
Glasses begin to tinkle; T V sets
Leaping, you leave a fit of crystal
Rallying, in eddies, for the next disturbance.
Startled lilies regain their delicate balance
Love poems (and what have I of yours
But one you did not send for jealousy,
And all my own?)