poetryrepairs #196 14.01:010
JAN OSKAR HANSEN : October in Paris
WENDY L HAMMOND : Grandpa Jake
ALBA HACKER : One More P.K. on the Run from God
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JAN OSKAR HANSEN
October in Parispoetryrepairs #196 14.01:010
Paris metro was a scary place full of robot people with glued lips.
Many ghosts they walked right through me and upstairs.
I did see Senegal workers knocking down a wall, they had white
teeth and smiled. I got lost it was night when I stumbled up and
out of this manmade conflagration, far from the center of Paris.
In streets were women swam about, they smiled and I felt like
a halibut lost in shark infested sea.
Ten years ago one of them might have lured me into a cove lit by
a 40 amp lamp, I would have spent days worrying whether I had
contracted venereal disease; there is something to be said for
inability; If I were a bishop my parishioners would be safe.
Found a bistro; good food and wine much cheaper than uptown.
Louvre? I have seen the postcard, who wants to see Versailles,
this gilded bordello with no loo.
All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge|
poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading
WENDY L HAMMOND
Grandpa Jakepoetryrepairs #196 14.01:010
i make music with words
i heard you played the accordion
traveled the country with a band
had many women,
a few families you abandoned
i wonder if you still write songs in heaven
-or is it really quiet, like in catholic church,
or waiting rooms
maybe i'm too soon in asking
but that much peace could drive me crazy
imagine, if you knew me
like a familiar melody
we could spend our time listening
tapping our feet
to a sweet genetic rhythm,
only you and i could make
grandpa jake, i understand-
the music was the reason
you had to keep moving
-now, how do i find
lyric for that
I have many things to write unto you but|
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian
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One More P.K. on the Run from God
They secured a lock to shut all overflow:
*No use in getting wet if one can avoid it.*
They erected dams on fault lines, every
year new designs, sealed in chapter and verse.
With each ripple witnessed, every fall and rise, any
bend or cove's depth measured, recorded in black books.
But her stream refused containment; it loosened
bits of sand and brick until it trickled, drifting
out of bounds. And they scrambled
to hide seeping cracks. I remember
when the front caved in a roar of white rapids:
frenzy drowned deafening church bells.
Poetry endangers the established order|
of the soul - Plato
REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people
at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
-- Oxford English Dictionary