RAY SUCCRE : Bangtails Behind the Dray
BARBARA F. LEFCOWITZ : Harlequins
TONY WEAVER : At Last
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Bangtails Behind the Dray Harlequins At Last  
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RAY SUCCRE
Bangtails Behind the Dray
We fell away from drink in the last days of Summer, something about money, or boredom, and yet this drink removed had been our Summer drink; I saw one of my compatriots bee-stung and soured, then nothing. That was the Summer, really. Then, the Autumn billows came, curb-bags rich with the season's decrease; I heard many slander this turn, in mind for more eighth-month sport. So old came the usual that from trees were found, raked up, translated, and prude, nothing by us but things of dry perish. I knew leaves and my folk were arrogant, and I knew all was still honest— Youth in Autumn was unsorted and covetous and so waiting that every older soul seemed to pull a cart with shattered, wooden wheels. The town was speck small; it thanked us to do nothing and its anger was aroused most by variety, but the seasons would not stop passing; the Sun came and went and the blue was for the unsorted. We were still fast but the races had stopped inviting us. We were soon bangtails harnessed to the dray, you know, sober, racers pulling carts with bad wheels. Maturity would grow us in angles, odds, and cracked wood to the end.
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Bangtails Behind the Dray Harlequins At Last  
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BARBARA F. LEFCOWITZ
Harlequins
And if dark clouds hover, their tight seams releasing no rain, hurricane winds detour, meteorites fragment to fine silt And if the crusaders mongols ottomans huns luftwaffe panzermen cossacks never arrive and the fever suddenly abates blisters and subcutaneous wounds suddenly curing themselves as if they never existed Would the disappointment be so keen we'd split ourselves in half so we're harlequins of reason and madness, continue to believe that Armageddon has arrived see the devil in every streetlight and star even as we go about our mundane business Or tired of waiting for danger would we likewise be harlequins, this time mirror-image reversed, ignoring the enticing rumors of cataclysmic changes to go about our business sipping Pernod on the Champs-Elysees, May, 1940, chanting psalms in a synagogue inside the Lodz ghetto, renting one of death's many anterooms for an elegant party because, as we all know, it can't, it absolutely can't, under any circumstances ever happen here.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.04: 046
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Bangtails Behind the Dray Harlequins At Last  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

TONY WEAVER
At Last
Daylight slides Into the night sing up oxygen While taking away All sight. Dusk must settle Before the coming Of dawn. Life is twisting and turning But must go on. Sadness blurs Into joy. Lies are mixed With the truth In an endless ploy. In the darkest - deepest crevices of our mind We search and learn As the light continues To shine. This eternal glow Represents our existence Simply by trusting in it Suddenly - we come To know. Hidden meanings Discovered truths Believable possibilities All present from Birth. Lightening flashes Across the sky Finally- we can go forward At last - knowing why.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.04: 046
RAY SUCCRE : Bangtails Behind the Dray
BARBARA F. LEFCOWITZ : Harlequins
TONY WEAVER : At Last

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