................................................................................................
The Poetry Of...
Karen Corcoran.................................................
Dabkowski
.............................................
Torch Song
Wicks lit,
woven smoke
the chanteuse
of the spirit
bares her throat and ululates
a long and hair-raised
note. Calls ruby glow
into focus. Each one's lost love
on a half
shell,
...rising.
Severence
and the stop
of reality
seen yesterday, as three crows topped the trees
like whole notes drawn against the sky. I sang them-
Vic-
to-
RY, the last one
held and
higher. I'm used
to crows alive and antic, squawking,
cawing
scoldingly, but not stock still; not written
onto the sheet music
of the day, along the
cirrus- that was, pheno-me-
non.
Truth Is A Barbed Thing
and oh, I agree with Ibsen
when it comes to silence
when appropriate
in human discourse
and this
includes
poetry. To me, each poem
is either a flower or a bullet- "Look into
any man's heart you please, and you will
always
find, in every one, at least
one black
spot
which he
has to keep
concealed. Leave it unrevealed!"- indeed.
I believe
it's true
down to
the
flying
tatters of me
flapping
off
to be in this black
ness
so like
the dark
I used to pull
about me
like a sweater. Only thing
that'd keep me
warm. Cold
it is
out there
and often
scary,
and if you strain your ears you can hear
gun
shots
off somewhere
surrounded by a field of golden harvest all unknowing
in a land where every hat
is black-
and how does
Ibsen
fit
into this
discourse? Well he said
keep
things locked.
Moo Star
Northern
most
in the heaven is not the star
that is wished on fervently, but a half
milked cow who moos
for all eternity, whose name is Shameless
One
who flew so far
above the moon it vaulted, beyond
orbit,
beyond
imagination
and transgression
and belief, it was an apertif of longing
for a meal without the bloody parts, the Mad Cow
chodder
feed,
the bleeding end stumps
the earth
bound
seem to love so, chomp
quite greedily. The last star
lost moo,
last
moo
tuning up
in spacey bliss, kicked high and silvery, freak
of nature, nurture, nighttime's fondest
wish, and friend
I've given shelter to,
my barn
heart
big and wide.
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