Saturday, July 29, 2006

Home is Where My Poem Is

Inspired by rob mclennan, Amanda Earl, Jennifer Mulligan, and Pearl Pirie, I begin a more public poetic journey. How better than to start with some new writing...


Why do I need a secondary process translation to find out what I, myself, am thinking?

Jan Zwicky

a wind: zephyr, chinook, mistral, call it what you will. breeze,
waited scent, wafted. blown. who has seen it?

ill wind, come with wind, or gone.
we try to leave land, then return:
sea and air, our temporary homes, abandoned on a whimsy.

seeking discovery, we find no answers
in tall catamarans of our minds.
like flying fish, landborne birds,
we spin wheels, tilt windmills
till next apocalypse.

it’s a breeze: draft, breath. Who breathes? slow
currents compose to gales, angered gods whistle,
propel blasts through constituent parts. oxygenation.
a petal drifts through heat haze of summer afternoon
hotter than hell has ever been.

a distant promontory, a mirage. all our senses
shift to cardinal directions. we watch birds soar
as land is sighted, light upon it wishfully.
homecomings are not for strangers.

how do we name? language borrows other places,
sundial turns to shadow. butterfly wings cause tidal wave.
some small miracle, somewhere, longing sailed round islands,
sun and wind. global warming.

restless denizens in each firmament chase seedlings
along chaotic pathways. nothing is random: no maps can find location.
predestinations. gentle prestidigitations from quiescent gods:
a new garden, a tree, leaf blown, a sail.

dervish twirls a dance, no demons follow. land ho, he cries,
and there, truth of windfall. sand. ephiphany?

something true is known. we feel that much, twirl again, skirts
lifted to umbrella air, sea creatures bound for planetary credenzas,
aloft like helium. endure, tarry,
remember invisible space, immanence.

a sign of someone coming.


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