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The Poetry Of.
Al Swanson.................................................
Midwest Morning
The seer of
the heat to drop
as petal wafers
round, whole
mistletoe
as dripping,
and the heat
some kind of candy
on the seat
an autumn
the skies fiery bask
alas, too
in a song of forever
their lovely dances
forked; prances
and wind
the door at which I sit
open
spend,
as the cocoon I wrapping,
it is
soft tapping
the ground beneath
with her ever entwining
an elegance, a whining
lifts
to greet my face
seeks,
the caress
of an autumn grace
here,
in Midwest
morning;
and the winds gush;
stayed,
hushed,
with each step,
there taken
Marylin
Did that plateau of mercy
really
bloom before you
Usher in the thinnest lilies
as on a spoon;
the dazzling lights of heat
that shred all the romantic tales
like a fondue butter,
and your eyes loomed; to furthest moons
again, adhered to;
those dusted
silver crops of despair
While none stood there,
watched alone
and a single heart beat
of gentle fluster
like groves and forests
that are unseen,
hidden
walked near you
again;
as the longing of a haze
of milk
from the far, corner
the farm:
your New World
with the new song
lifted and hung precisely
like a dolled and paper
sun
lilies flowing about,
a Medusa's:
in full waving brow
such was thine, only enchantment
thine stunning, laid beauty
that slept,
wept, for you
in a glass sun ..
stood there
searching flaws against herself too
in a neat mirror:
hung fine walls of painted white
A conscious, and
a line of breeze
searching,
full colored and painted ornaments
hollow now
for the time
with a vacancy,
the sun above
in full golden
wishing,
the flow of her hair true
long wrapped,
like the setting
revealed
in eyes
A river tossed
and tossed stones
lighted now
blue,
and the water near
talking
Ode To The Babe At The Library
You used to, love to look at me
in the library;
hunched over, that line of book ware:
the shadow caked on,
real good;
with just enough tear lying
between each knot
to witness
the well of your frosted eyes;
like seeing through
a collage of peacock feathers
to array of antique velvets
hanging, and draped o'er
such fine and polished wooden antiques
Your eyes, that brown tinted
in the flaky purple;
with the high gloss silver spots
that seemed to match
the yellow that floated your eyes
but then, why not ...
As your spirit seemed to catch the glance of that
which I internally uttered
and tilted some
to allow me see
the well, that really had
no traceable bottoms ..
just the slim, foam
of a riding sea;
and those thousand porcelain urns,
or fibers that swam
the black shadow
of that gland
and of course, the water
so inviting
matchless,
shimmered
its gold
said,
told
The weed of the configuration
did also rise to surface,
as you allowed me see
that these eyes were merely
light seas,
yet filled with many hungry entanglements
that swam the froth in front, to me
as I could sense, the roar
of sudden an encountered ocean
lined with trees,
densely saturated
with mists
that clung
fibrous; so
everyone
in that mix
of salted smile,
now reaching
for me
And I alone; with a clicking pencil
a mop of hair
with a Greek monster
arisen,
across so lively a board
on which to balance
my life
and she, breathing
