LIKE A THIEF
How can I make you love me?
…and how to fill you
with a dream of me!,
unlikely and impossible
and utterly untrue
…then
slowly steer you to the dire
(smoke and steam
profuse upon the fire) inadequacy
as limitless
as stony bare and vile.
No! It could not possibly
be the same for you!
Oh dream and lullaby and light
to which I give my wounded guile
like a thief
who steals you
in the night.
***
PUTTING COLOR IN THE DRYNESS
——————————————————————————–
There is no blood! There is no cross!
The deep ache which our hearts assay
…depression!, lunatic, unreal
…never meets us anyway.
No petals bloom the flower we feel
should we inscribe a lonely song
because the shoddy echoes steal!
because the TV is turned on
whose money jerks our thoughts away,
whose noisy noisy comedy
is smoke and light
and turns the day into a night
and snuffs the honor of regret.
And briefly do we sense the loss
from time to time, like love’s ennui
…or just before we go to bed
in smoke lost from a cigarette
that so provokes a senseless tear
from eyes that itch
and smear…with red.
The Teaman Appears
On any Himalaya
Mr. Chetri claps twice
and a teaman appears
In his paws a rack of glasses
(wiped not washed)
and a Chinese Thermos
green with red flowers
For a rupee he pours cha
Darjeeling steams
with crude sugar
half milk
spiced with smoke
from the mystic wood
it’s steeped over
The test of tenure
is to scald fingers
and not
set the glass down
You learn to honor the taste
of cremated trees
In these mountains
all wood is rare wood
by J. Kevin Wolfe
————————
All poems from ‘The Year of Purple Lawn Furniture’ (c2001 by J. Kevin Wolfe), afree ebook of poems in various reader formats.
http://home.att.net/~jkevinwolfe/i dex.html
Bio: J. Kevin Wolfe’s poems have appeared in over 60 ezines and in a dozen print publications. ‘The Year of Purple Lawn Furniture’ is a collection of new poems.
***
J. Kevin Wolfe
Rental Car
Got the keys? I asked Chuck
I locked my door in France
Got the keys? I repeated
I pressed the knob in Andorra
Got the keys? I chanted
I checked the handle in Spain
It’s Sunday
The Pyrenees live 60 kilometers
from anyplace
I forget to ask
The keys sway in the ignition
from the noose of a chain
half a meter
behind tempered glass
My Swiss Army knife learns
how sturdy Peugeots are made
Two Frenchmen
leave their picnic, wine and women
They cram two screwdrivers
above the window
Pulling down
my fingers are in
Pulling down
my hand is in
Pulling down
my elbow is in
Pulling down
the window leaps the track
thunks into the door
‘Voila’ they smile
It’s summer
Snow flavors the wind
We have no window
‘I got the keys’
Chuck says
————————
***