(Poem #204)Meeting Point -- Louis MacNeice Time was away and somewhere else, There were two glasses and two chairs And two people with the one pulse (Somebody stopped the moving stairs) Time was away and somewhere else. And they were neither up nor down; The stream's music did not stop Flowing through heather, limpid brown, Although they sat in a coffee shop And they were neither up nor down. The bell was silent in the air Holding its inverted poise - Between the clang and clang a flower, A brazen calyx of no noise: The bell was silent in the air. The camels crossed the miles of sand That stretched around the cups and plates; The desert was their own, they planned To portion out the stars and dates: The camels crossed the miles of sand. Time was away and somewhere else. The waiter did not come, the clock Forgot them and the radio waltz Came out like water from a rock: Time was away and somewhere else. Her fingers flicked away the ash That bloomed again in tropic trees: Not caring if the markets crash When they had forests such as these, Her fingers flicked away the ash. God or whatever means the Good Be praised that time can stop like this, That what the heart has understood Can verify in the body's peace God or whatever means the Good. Time was away and she was here And life no longer what it was, The bell was silent in the air And all the room one glow because Time was away and she was here. |
Meeting Point -- Louis MacNeice
Daily I Fall in Love with Mechanics -- Susan Thurston
(Poem #203)Daily I Fall in Love with Mechanics Daily I fall in love with mechanics with their smudged coveralls and names embroidered over where their hearts just might be PETE STEWART RAY CHUCK BUTCH and thick soled boots. I love how they jack up my car and press the pneumatic drill to my tires and with hip press lean into the whir of liberation nuts and bolts falling released from so much spinning and holding everything tight in place. I feel their hands roughened by spark plugs and washer fluid yet sweetened by overflowing oil pans slide over me. Their arms and shoulders remind me of deep river valleys and other places where we could tumble after setting the parking brake... fumbling and clutching so melodiously I am left grateful for their engine knowledge. Daily I fall in love with mechanics with their grease smudged bad boy grins and come hither wide opening garage doors. They tell secrets in the pit and I want them. I know them. They slip belts back into place their legs diesel dark They have lovers or spouses or children or all. They are strut bearing reliable— they know how timing belts twist. Their toothpick punctuated grins reassure you they are giving you the best deal in town and they would not let you drive without checking all your fluid levels. Daily I fall in love with mechanics. They are better than Free Air want my vehicle to be safe and sound but they never travel far enough before pulling the next car into the station. |
Daily I Fall In Love With Waitresses -- Elliot Fried
(Poem #202)Daily I Fall In Love With Waitresses Daily I fall in love with waitresses with their white bouncing name tags KATHY MARGIE HONEY SUE and white rubber shoes. I love how they bend over tables pouring coffee. Their perky breasts hover above potatoes like jets coming in to LAX hang above the suburbs— shards of broken stars. I feel their fingers roughened by cube steaks softened with grease slide over me. Their hands and lean long bodies keep moving so... fumbling and clattering so harmoniously that I am left overwhelmed, quivering. Daily I fall in love with waitresses with their cream-cheese cool. They tell secrets in the kitchen and I want them. I know them. They press buttons creases burgers buns— their legs are menu smooth. They have boyfriends or husbands or children or all. They are french dressing worldly— they know how ice cubes clink. Their chipped teeth form chipped beef and muffin syllabics. Daily I fall in love with waitresses. They are Thousand Island dreams but they never stand still long enough as they serve serve serve. |
O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie -- Philip Appleman
(Poem #201)O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie O Karma, Dharma, pudding and pie, gimme a break before I die: grant me wisdom, will, & wit, purity, probity, pluck, & grit. Trustworthy, loyal, helpful, kind, gimme great abs & a steel-trap mind, and forgive, Ye Gods, some humble advice— these little blessings would suffice to beget an earthly paradise: make the bad people good— and the good people nice; and before our world goes over the brink, teach the believers how to think. |