poetryrepairs #235 v17.03:033

RALPH MONDAY : 'Bergman's Island' & Other Poems
All Those Years
Tell Me Your Thoughts
Silent Screens

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All Those Years

If I come to your window through the littered leaves, if you sit at the mirror in a nightgown brushing your scarlet hair, will you remember all those years when you read to me, the tongue of books walking through all the world, and you held my hand while the rain fell? If I come to your window while you gaze at old family photo albums as gray as moss, as vibrant as vibrating photons, do you see me there on a back page, looking...looking at you? If I come to your window while you dine on Mediterranean oysters, soft pink mollusks sautéed in white wine, butter, will you tip your nails in my blood and circle the world in crimson? If I come to your window and toss pebbles at the glass, will you see me in the purple twilight clothed in velvet knowing, remember decades past when you fed me asparagus with green fingers and I licked the thin sweat from your eyelids; afterwards we slept on satin sheets and woke smiling? If I come to your window will you wave and smile and show me your red dress for the theatre and say I love you one more time? If I come to your window before you wore my ring, if I can wheel myself there, return to a time when we were, before the decades passed and you left me not of your own free will, but from the final call out there somewhere in hibernating November fields, can you return? if I come to your window. if I come to your window.

poetryrepairs #235 v17.03:033





Tell Me Your Thoughts

If I really knew you, not just a virtual knowing, not the geography of virtual space, of mouse clicks, twitter, emails that lack the romance of old fashioned letters, the ones that come in sturdy envelopes carrying friendly vignettes, sincere greetings, quaint antebellum times gone out of fashion, I would sit at a table with you outside the Roman Coliseum, as friends, carry on a conversation over wine as red as Homer said, “the wine dark sea,” goat cheese. As a friend in comfortable surroundings, I would ask, “tell me what you think of the horrors of men in ancient battle here for the pleasure of the crowd. Share with me your ideas about your music, your poetry, the wild heroines that people your novels. Speak to me of your muse and whether she comes in dreams, or as a creative contemplation in a white gown bearing garlands of flowers, or in a dark time, dark portents. Tell me your thoughts on the planet, all the people, shades now, who have walked before, and those yet to see frost or ice or smell fall’s burning leaves. Tell me how you have lived, your successes, failures, tell me your dreams, your nightmares, the times that you have laughed, the moments that you cried. Tell me how music has choreographed your life, how poetry has sustained you in times of need. Tell me all that you wish to tell, and those things that you do not, for I will nod to you, clink glasses, say, I know,” while the sun falls shadowed and silent on that great hulking mass before us.

poetryrepairs #235 v17.03:033





Silent Screens

The light smears on the water, different colored lipstick streaks, but the movie screen is dark, Dairy Queen is dead. I want to walk through the drive-in she said. I want to taste celluloid candy. I want to drink Lana Turner from a coke straw, eat Rita Hayworth from a popcorn box, listen to Ava Gardner's breasts tell about spring and children's dreams. The screen was huge, white as a moon moth, the grass wet on her bare feet. Her face glowed in technicolor, and she spoke in strange silent tongues like a desert prophet, like a director crafting the final scene of wild horses racing across the high plains, of John Wayne saving the day, and the Lone Ranger taming Tonto's tribe. But the screen remained silent, the movies blank ghosts turned inward to the grave sunk forever and forever on reels that never played.




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read more poetry

RALPH MONDAY : 'Bergman's Island' & Other Poems
All Those Years
Tell Me Your Thoughts
Silent Screens


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