KAREN CORCORAN DABKOWSKI

The Poetry Of..
Karen Corcoran............................................
Dabkowski............................................................

Reaching Out

There's absolutely nothing to stop me from writing straight across the page
Stage
One
insanity
this love of word
scape
draped
in
velvetly soothings
when the thumb
is no
longer
allowed. It's what we do
when
grown, and the pone
or anything
sweeter
is either
out of reach, or simply past
its prime. No
rhyme

-God, not
at the ends-

but in the
bendy
middle of things

it does
just fine.

Calling Down A Well

......~After listening to Tom Waits'
"Brawlers, Bawlers and Bastards"

It's like
calling down a well

someone
fell
down

breaking bones
along
the way

and what is left
is the merest
whisper of a soul
that sounds
like paper boats
that are
filled
with gravel,
grease
and pain

and it soars on
up,
and it
roars its name

and then it settles
down
again

and that's
Tom Waits in his
workday
serenade

in the truest
voice
made
sweet
by compassionate
power
standing on good legs

that are two trees
twisted
into
a wish
for a better

place

a softer
sleep
a better world - a dream - a dreamer

meet
the demon
down below,

and he
stitched
on

wings, for that's the thing
that
love
does-
helps us
rise above the flow
of molten

angers.

Tokens

Dark
token
epiphanies, no star
bright
gleams
to lead this pilgrim, there were
lesser
things,
a forgotten word
slipped into future tense not
present, an embezzlement
of secrets,
a treasure
trove
of personal painful tapestry
hung on another wall where
could be seen
the lighter
squares
where
the owner
once had hung another
one before
you, the simple nails
so easily
slipped
off,
yet
walls began
to fill
with traces of your face, your speech
a creeping columbine entwining
though
a vine
that's
easily broken,
and as I write I see
dark
tokens
epiphanies
and this time not
for me
but the
world over
some will
stumble into briars
thinking
the scent
of roses stays,
so they dive headlong,
break all ties
to find they hold a hand of thorn
that
sweetness
fades, that promises
made in smoke
become
dark tokens
in a world built
on another's pain disregarded
or denied,
and that
love will outwit
all; it
never does.

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