Face Cord - bits and peices

[Piscator]

Face Cord

Face Cord

Yes I have
a face cord
of poems
and am open
to offers.

Getting old,
downsizing
and I no
longer have
the space

A well seasoned lot,
neatly sorted
by category or whim.
Some dark and dense
to last through
long winter evening.
Others lighter
to keep the fire bright.
A few spiced with jive
to keep your toes moving.
And squirreled away
for those long nights when
you need extra warmth,
a handful of erotic poems.
Sometimes, they work for me,
who knows, they just might
work for you.

Yes I have
a face cord
of poems
and am open
to offers.

 

[Piscator]

First Frost

Venus shown bright in the morning sky
while the moon hung large
over a suddenly frozen land.
Above the blue of Easter eggs
or mosques, with an
orange tinge to the east,
still dark to the west.

Our old dog frisked
rolling in the frosty grass,
calves bounded along the fence
sheep sat contentedly
their chalked posteriors
signs of active rams.

Later we will curse the dying sun
but this morning
Venus shown bright in the morning sky
while the moon hung large
over a suddenly frozen land.

 

[Piscator]

Whitewater time

Adrift in a current I cannot control.
No time for excuses
but there's poetry here,
if only I can hold in
this backeddy
and jot it all down.

Already the end of October
and half the trees are bare,
The song birds are gone,
sweet tunes slipping south,
leaving only the harsh cries
of jays and crows.
In the rivers, salmon
flounder, their future
deposited in gravel banks.
Ice on the deck this morning,
I almost slipped going down
to play fetch with the dogs
and plant next year's garlic.
Soon there will be snow.

Each day grows shorter
each night longer,
and the darkness
keeps me awake.
And I look to the future
with a jumble of
anticipation and dread
for the moment when
my time flows no more.

 

[Piscator]

Les Demineurs

En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells,
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars.

Would that we had the same
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
I’ll forgive but canna’ forget.

A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.

We’ve laid the mines of icy courtesy
to restrict crossing this no-man’s land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.

En fin, les demineurs,
ne travailent pas.

 

[Piscator]

leaves crunch underfoot
grey white clouds scuttle above
skeleton trees
it is the end of autumn
the wind’s cold but still no snow

 

[greenmountaineer]

I hadn't noticed this thread before, Piscator. I'm looking forward to reading more entries. I particularly like "Face Cord," having first learned the term when I moved to Vermont more than 40 years ago: 15 bucks green from a nearby farmer but seasoned come December.

 

[Piscator]

I hadn't noticed this thread before, Piscator. I'm looking forward to reading more entries. I particularly like "Face Cord," having first learned the term when I moved to Vermont more than 40 years ago: 15 bucks green from a nearby farmer but seasoned come December.

Thanks GM, I came up with it year's ago as the title and intro to a yet to be realized collection of my scribblings. I also have an internal debate over potential cover pages.

 

[Piscator]

Attack of the killer Sebelius

Sometimes music
takes you away
a few bars of Sebelius
cuts through the clutter of
school lunch preparation.
and I'm in the fiords
the soul home
I've never seen

I know little of Finland
and first met Matti
at a meeting in Dallas
where he a two day visitor
argued with the cabby
over the best way downtown.
When we arrived
he gave an excellent tour
of the corner
where JFK ended.
Later, another meeting.
this time in Wisconsin
as we shared our duty free.
he spoke of his son's summer job
folk dancing on a ferry
crossing the Gulf of Bothnia

On my run the next morning
a bald eagle passed
high overhead.

As I pack the lunches
our four year-old explains
that although Godzilla is
a boy's name, she laid eggs
that one remains buried
and do I know what
attack means?

 

[Piscator]

Coyote

In the pre-dawn hush
brief staccato yips
at the threshold of
my muddle aged hearing.
Downstairs the dog bays,
their calls unleashing
fragments of her feral past,
and the shivers on my back
tell me she is not alone.

The neighbors raise sheep,
last year they lost six lambs
in one night despite
their, dogs, fences
and miniature donkey.

Yet I smile knowing
they are there.

 

[Piscator]

Decemberpoem

Silence shrouds the land,
steel gray clouds
hang low overhead,
and the air smells of snow.
A jay, strangely silent
peers down from
newly naked branches.
To the west, geese fly
in ragtag formation
not even bothering to V.

Entering the cedars
I leash the dogs as
there's a scent of skunk.
Leaving the woods
our breath hangs
just shy of steam,
while a solitary crow
flaps slowly across
the red blushed horizon.

Suspended, waiting
for winter to come.

 

[Piscator]

Life Experiments

“Any schoolboy can do experiments in the physics laboratory to test various scientific hypothesis.
But man, because he has only one life to live, cannot conduct experiments to test whether to follow his passion or not.”
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Each week he's sits
on his bench
his mangled arm in a sling
and muzak on his radio.
I'll add a toonie to his cap
as I pass enroute
to the Farmers' Market
He'll say "God Bless"
I respond "Take care"
then continue on my way;
he greets the next passerby
and we each return to
our respective experiment.

About once a week,
the phone rings and
it's "John" on call display.
I pick it up even though I know
he will ramble for a while
then ask for the number
of my wife's sister, whom
he dated briefly, long ago.
I answer because I knew him
when he was an up and
coming med student who
introduced me to the
Fine Young Cannibals,
not a borderline psychotic
with a drinking problem.
I'll tell him that I don't
know her number
and we each return to
our respective experiment.

 

[Piscator]

December walk

The world is stark
grey tree trunks
branches stripped
of leaves, lying
brown at my feet
now covered by
a dust of snow white
while sun bright
draws shadows dark.

Just enough to
leave tacks
are you
following me?

 

[Piscator]

John Snow's line

I am lost in this winter sky,
wandering past a lonely cloud
which is scuttling to join the grey
flock to the east, just beyond the sky
blue patches of bright sunlight before the
brooding cumulus mountain mother of a snow
storm which will reaffirm that winter is cumming.

 

[legerdemer]

Decemberpoem

Silence shrouds the land,
steel gray clouds
hang low overhead,
and the air smells of snow.
A jay, strangely silent
peers down from
newly naked branches.
To the west, geese fly
in ragtag formation
not even bothering to V.

Entering the cedars
I leash the dogs as
there a scent of skunk.
Leaving the woods
our breath hangs
just shy of steam,
while a solitary crow
flaps slowly across
the red blushed horizon.

Suspended, waiting
for winter to come.

Very lovely, and a perfect ending. One quibble: there is a typo in S2 L3, but it could be resolved in a number of ways - probably 'there's' will do it.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Decemberpoem

Silence shrouds the land,
steel gray clouds
hang low overhead,
and the air smells of snow.
A jay, strangely silent
peers down from
newly naked branches.
To the west, geese fly
in ragtag formation
not even bothering to V.

Entering the cedars
I leash the dogs as
there a scent of skunk.
Leaving the woods
our breath hangs
just shy of steam,
while a solitary crow
flaps slowly across
the red blushed horizon.

Suspended, waiting
for winter to come.

Very lovely, and a perfect ending. One quibble: there is a typo in S2 L3, but it could be resolved in a number of ways - probably 'there's' will do it.

Living in the North Country and having experienced it up close,
I'd be inclined to stretch syntax a bit with exclamations and new stanza:

"I leash the dogs as....
There! A scent of skunk!

Leaving the woods......."

I think it makes it more sudden.

Good poem.

 

[legerdemer]

Living in the North Country and having experienced it up close,
I'd be inclined to stretch syntax a bit with exclamations and new stanza:

"I leash the dogs as....
There! A scent of skunk!

Leaving the woods......."

I think it makes it more sudden.

Good poem.

I like your suggestion, gm. As an aside on dogs and skunks, both my dogs have been "skunked" - one of them twice! (cute but not too bright, that one) And of course, in the middle of the night. The smell was unimaginably horrible!

For Piscator's poem, I also considered, playfully,

"Entering the cedars
sensing the scent of skunk,
I leash the dogs...."

 

[Piscator]

Very lovely, and a perfect ending. One quibble: there is a typo in S2 L3, but it could be resolved in a number of ways - probably 'there's' will do it.

Living in the North Country and having experienced it up close,
I'd be inclined to stretch syntax a bit with exclamations and new stanza:

"I leash the dogs as....
There! A scent of skunk!

Leaving the woods......."

I think it makes it more sudden.

Good poem.

I like your suggestion, gm. As an aside on dogs and skunks, both my dogs have been "skunked" - one of them twice! (cute but not too bright, that one) And of course, in the middle of the night. The smell was unimaginably horrible!

For Piscator's poem, I also considered, playfully,

"Entering the cedars
sensing the scent of skunk,
I leash the dogs...."

Mer and gm, Many thanks for your comments and suggestions.

Mer's first suggestion was correct, In copying, I somehow lost the 's at the end of the "there" and replaced it in my edit. Your other suggestions are interesting, but will require further consideration when I next revisit this poem.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I don't know if it's possible to change the title of a thread but the typo in yours is driving me nuts!

 

[Piscator]

deleted

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I tried

Ah well I was nuts before anyway

 

[Piscator]

Reading Lin Tao and thinking about depression

came across him
seemingly at random,
if anything ever is
random.
reading it in short bits,
i'm coming to realize
i do not understand.
the first step
if there are steps
and where is
the elevator?

 

[Piscator]

Grey

as February stumbles
into March
overcast,
sometime rain
sometimes snow
always a raw wind
i am consumed
by nothingness

adrift in
yet another reorg
a book arrives
i worked so hard
two years ago?
my chapter
p:107- 118
it joins the others
on my shelf
hohum

godawful traffic
late getting home
to be met
by your smile
our three year olds’
running embrace
the dogs wet head
in my crotch
tales of
kindergarten
elementary school
and your own job trials
my frown fades
and the bathroom
faucet still drips
washing a bit of grey
down the drain


________________________________________________
from a while back

 

[Piscator]

They’re Back

On the heels of last week’s ice storm,
the Red-Winged Blackbirds,
RWB for short, are back.
Every patch of cattails staked by
by it’s territorial male, with red-yellow epaulets
flared and sleek black feathers
contrasting against cold white snow.
Each holding forth his raucous call
“check tee-err konk-la-ree o-ka-lay”
(or so says Peterson).
Lord of this territory till his Lady arrives
fashionably late with warmer weather.​

 

[Piscator]

Darkness falls

The day
the sun stopped
shining

Shine on
we cried to no
avail

The veil
had descended
leaving

Brown leaves
over our once
green lawn

Lawn time
sun's been gone
dark remains​

 

[Piscator]

Willow

Willows bend
but seldom break
and when they do
sprout again
renewing the cycle

I have two twigs
rooted remnants
of spring’s evanescent
pussy willows
and I’m asking you
to plant them.