Friday, August 20, 2010

A Poem Re-Draft and Three New Poem Drafts

bad cat

some cat has got
into the poetry books
jumbling all the words
cutting lines and verses
into pieces
shredding sonnets

rhymes are all displaced
meters
disarrayed
tissue-paper shreds
are all the metaphors

and when i catch
the crazy feline
who stole the capitals
the punctuation marks
i will say
bad cat

Cradle

How swiftly youth will wither,
and dreaming sense of wonder,
like clouds in windy weather
that curl and caper yonder!

How swiftly time will fly
and carry this infant flesh,
as with me it flew,
like wind or lightning flash.

Tired of Listening

No, I will not hear again
the tale of how a clever you
overcame, made right, got gain.
And all your family, too,
you can pack away in a box
and shove it in an attic loft,
of how they lost, won back,
of how they sorrowed, sighed, and laughed.
No! I will not hear
of how a stupid teenage friend
and you escaped by just a hair;
there is no interest there
and your stories do not end.
No, I said, no! Not a word,
not a discourse, not a tale
will be heard;
all your tales are far too tall,
and all your stories drear;
your exploits like your fresh-washed shirts
should hide in some small drawer
until you can keep them short.

Maria Assumpta

Hear, my daughter,
lend your year,
forget your people,
leave your home.
  The queen will stand,
  your right hand
  adorn with gold.

The king will love,
fairness seek;
he is your lord,
adore his name.
  The queen will stand,
  your right hand
  adorn with gold.

With cheerful sound,
with joyful noise,
their name is praised.
They pass within.
  The queen will stand,
  your right hand
  adorn with gold.

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