The Poetry Of...
Al Swanson...................................................
Simply Spectra
Did you upon morning light
embrace the spectra
a dimness
flown
about her river
slight hinted arrogance of a floated
thought
that blends
about
runs,
through the filters
of tossed knowing waves
in any water
She shall touch you on your edges
those corners and jags
of your personality
that live alone
seeking solace in the shadow of the others
there
in equal libation
a touch; and glance, as all
they looking for
to massage their corners
feel the course pains of their lies
As a sugar they desire to melt
yield to them
the molecules they contain
purity you
as hearts
that lie abreast'd
any thin rain,
and offer you drink
as will her sisters
agreeing
melt too
the spectra
in her released veiled softness allows
these elaborate pinches of nerves
the yellow light of their flowing
a watered tabernacle to touch
spilling now a golden silvered
mist
and eyes to appear,
float the bottom
Brave Warrior Bees Alight
the lilies wave the brow, in long fields
of such a luscious swaying bunch
satin growing by lofty green hillsides
swaying in unison, the warmth
stirs tops easily, where
fluffed warrior bees sternly alight
in groups, high antenna perched
floating airs, that do a seeing
for them, and ribs of flowers
know
how they feel when they brush so tenderly
upon petals oozing limes though invisible
they are to us, not having
a quarter trillion eyes capable
to see lights refraction from so many positions
simultaneously, or scents of various small pollens
how they rotate
spin, as small lives congealed
as rounded flakes
suspended with others
bees see them
as petals limes, or reds, or sassy greens
as they would tell you, but cannot since
they really can't talk
not because they could not, they would
if they did not get so excited, imagine
immersing themselves in airs anyway with
wings scientifically too small to hold them
still they are able to float for hours
days even in a bee like astonishment refusing
to go home early, or quit the day at noon
say, or even a day off
see what I mean? of course
you can't, being not a bee nor am I
Flying Confetti
you upon ..... lifting
strewn satin light
by day breaking,
the sliver of splash
comes washing
with its tide
pouring
the colors are outlined inside,
they introduce themselves
in big beautiful burst
rounded in symmetry
that challenge the size of eyes
a spark too
seen
to lie mid-center
like New Years Eve
in two years
with those large leafy banners
swaying
and falling
from every tall building
and the sun always bright
peaking as it sometimes will; between
say, two of them, hitting the glass
just right, making them shine like composed
of some urban posed metal
or one of the Beethoven's greats
the march down City Hall is brimming
now with people of every sort
and even the windows are celebrating
tossing confetti, and light
and glass
and peoples eyes brighter
than the year before
when I last looked
