..................................................................................................
The Poetry Of...
Karen Corcoran............
Dabkowski...............
Dangle And Swirl
In the craft
we travel, so light, so leaky
loose, we sluice our way
and sometimes
we get
caught
in eddies;
around and around
we swirl
without
the wherewithal,
and sometimes
even
the desire
to bring new juice to what we do
to find we're caught
as simply
as leaves are in a stream
until a wind
change
comes.
By
inches,
then
by feet,
we're thrown
quite free of it
and from
the shoals,
the circle
currents
look so darkly
dangerous,
then black-- then
there's no looking
back at all
except as
a caution
turned
to boredom
at the fuss we made
once
twirling
in the
circle
we're finally
sprung from-
like the prepositional
phrase
that's not to
be strung
at the end
of a
sentence. We are
such
apples
hung
from
such weird
trees
Edible Delights
If there's anything sweeter
in this world than a Fuji apple, I don't know
it-- except
the rosy
round
of cheeks
on my
grand
daughter
or grandson's
face
and if
it would not
be
too
disfiguring or
hurtful, I would
eat them too- but as
it is
I eat
the apples.
The others
are just
feasts
for
the eyes.
Mirror Street
The earth
abides.
Not the world.....
the world is something
made
of concrete,
lies
and politics
but
earth
is with
us truly.
See
the knuckled
blackened branch
so like a limb, elbowed into sky
and hear
those geese above us
winging
their alphabet
letters home
in changing patterns
on this
grim
gray January
morning -
this
is life.
This is
the thrust
of every
poet
impulse:
earth
we
trust
to give us
something
worthwhile carrying - it mirrors
the path
we walk
when we're not
afraid
to die, but haven't
realized
the geese
above
know
full well
where
we
go -
and it's
in
every trembling
moment.
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