Monday, July 30, 2012

AUGUST COMING

...locate the nearest safety exit...
cabin crew ready for take off...
tea or coffee?
And so on.

Beyond that
this
sense of leaving,
of "having" to leave...

maybe to reinforce
the desire
and hope
to come back?

Friday, July 13, 2012

IN PRAISE OF DOUBTS

Your “But..and what if…?” got me.
At dinner, at the narrow table
of this narrow present.
After some silent spell
in the waves of the conversation.
I know your kind of question well,
for ages I have myself
refused to give up doubts.
I have asked and asked
despite life's
shrugging shoulders.

I think I know a lot about asking,
I have digressed by it on meadows and rivers,
I have wavered, meandered, lingered,
with questions I have silvered
currents of grass.

And now look, my doubts,
kites in the air.

Thermals are friendly with Ifs and Buts
up there.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

YOU WOULDN'T SAY

but that was that,
how things cross each other...
oppose each other like
invisible eyes in the wind.
A vast trim.
I swam along the causeway
and it was like I half-remembered
or half-guessed in a dream,
the ripples went their way,
see manes
all running towards land
but the current underneath
pushed towards the open sea,
so distintly opposite.

I climbed back on the farthest stones
just in time, just in time,
before being gently carried away...
and that's the core of my diary for today.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

PURSUED BY PAST RECORDS

In this violent pool of tiger’s heat
I had to leave home and walk the street.

Haunted by the hot air.
Its well known, ripe, stifling stare.

The stones steady and heavy.
The canal water looking like gravy.

I couldn’t go beyond a memorabilia shop
where I found the record album I'd never got.

Well,I had borrowed it for ages and drowned
in the fulfilling stream of its rhythm and sound.

Which had been evidently pursuing me
with the very heat's determination and glee.

I have just played it, full volume, I had to stand,
the interlacing solos, too grand.

I confess I even loved the stylus's screeching,
the past's tip I'm always beseeching.


The record album this poem talks about is 4 WAY STREET by Crosby, Stlls, Nash and Young. Obviously a vinyl album and that "makes all the difference".