Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Three Poem Drafts


You say that happiness is pleasure,
days and nights of momentary joy;
your life is a deck of playing cards,
randomly shuffled, randomly dealt.
My life is the game, playing all cards,
winning or losing with a new-dealt hand,
and even if all of my cards are low,
there is joy in every ventured deal.
Which of us is happy, he whose hand
dictates his success, delight, and joy,
or he whose joy plays every hand?

Luis Amanecer

Luis Amanecer walked home one day;
the sun was shining and white clouds
littered a pale blue sky;
the grass, a verdant fire, played
with little daisies and some yellow flower
Luis could not have named.
It was half past four and he carried
a heavy cardboard box, filled
with trinkets slaves at desks collect.
His shirt, somewhat disheveled, gleamed;
his tie, a banner in a holiday parade,
flapped wildly in the wind.
It is a good day to be drunk, he thought
as he passed a little liquor store.
He went inside to get some scotch
and saw the woman at the counter,
flame-haired with bright green eyes,
looking somewhat bored, like a flower
that somehow had been planted by the wind
on some bare and craggy hill.
"Hello," she said. "It is a lovely day."
She had no ring; Luis looked down
at his own soft and ringless hands
and thought that, if it must be, today
was as good a day as any to be fired.
"Hello," he said in a rush of courage,
"My name is Luis León Amanecer."

You and I Have Never Touched

You and I have never touched
but our shadows have entangled;
the brushing of shade against my shade
was like the touch of angels.

You and I have never kissed
but we kiss the same spring wind;
Zephyr's kiss on my mouth begins
and on your lips now ends.

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