Subscribe: by Email | in Reader

Meeting Point -- Louis MacNeice

(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

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.
-- Susan Thurston

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.
-- Elliot Fried

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.
-- Philip Appleman