The Poetry Of..
Maurice Oliver.................................................
Never Mind, Turning-Up As Poppies
Kiss me with your feet.
Wiggle me with your Fondue.
Snatch a skull of my midnight.
Drama the brass bell of my mounted pearl.
Meteors of country living my darling.
In a glossy magazine of ginger bread house.
The steps we dance. The words we stretch.
All inlaid in the heirloom of somewhere.
Cordless, & Transitory As Heroes
I murder myself then throw my body in the river.
The river has been polluted since I was a boy. I
know because I use to go fishing there until I
caught a three-headed crap. From then on, I’d
just sit on a bench on the bank.
Back then, blood meant nothing to a war and
every house was heated by a furnace. People
spoke to total strangers on the streetcar.
Sometimes you might even see a water snake.
My father was a quiet man who never raked the
lawn. My mother had a bad temper and once
made me go to bed without supper. Wind a hawk
encountered. Nights without a moon or stars.
They’ll pull me out of the river, eventually. I’ve
already selected my casket and hope I can grow
into lush kudzu. And for what its worth, I’m totally
convinced that a cricket’s call is never in vain.
Matter, Disarmed By Rarified Heights
She puts on high-heeled socks every time it rains.
I've never owned an umbrella. My kite is shaped
like a fish and my dog never answers when I
call. I'm strong enough to be considered a fool
and have a trained falcon who can fly to rarified
heights. Neither of us like it when the wind dies
down and are always looking for weather updates.
I want everything I feel to be lyrical and pure.
I've never wished for a grave-maker taller than
necessary or silence without dignity. I believe
Jerusalem would make a lousy strip mall and have
always thought a tambourine sounds more sensual
than a lyre. The word commerce is nothing but an
overgrown garden and war hides as razors in butter.
All bonfires should have a proper burial and every
mountain should have a name. Shepherds are a
peaceful lot if not horny. Mushroom clouds are a
universal alibi. There is no comfort in seatbelts. O
yeah, and everybody has the right to witness miracle.
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