who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should
get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people
than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where
always
it’s
Spring and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves
All I ‘See’ Is Carpeting
by Joan Pond
The streets of Kensington gave me trouble,
so I doubled back to the flat.
Driving on the wrong side
I panicked at an intersection,
threatening to cut me in two.
I should have listened to you
and taken the tram.
Sheer hell will break loose,
for dinging your Bentley.
My ass is in a sling,
then over your knee;
while you explain why Yanks
should leave driving to the Brits.
Yet all I
‘see’,
is carpeting.
Schmutt
The alarm when I knocked on the door
The phantom under the couch
That knew when the cats wanted in
He often sqweaked like a kiddy toy
A pat on the head was his reward
For being a good guy
And it was enough for him
To be the household friend
The last time I saw him, though
He didn’t bark when I knocked
That puzzled me a little but
He got his pat on the head anyway
The Guy whose name can’t be said
Whistled for his sweet little invention
To finish his business and
Come on home
I hope there is a fine couch to sleep under
And a knock on the door occasionally
Take a nice nap there my friend
Three firm knocks; that will be me.
******
You there,
you with your folder in your hands,
you
with your toolbox.
You there,
you who think you don’t matter.
You are the butterfly whose wings flutter and
cause winds to blow and rain to fall.
You are the sunshine to someone.
You are the apple falling on Newton’s head my friend.
The wind that flows from you
blows
harder than you could ever
imagine.
You are not
just one domino that knocks over another in a long endless chain.
You are
a voice in the wilderness,
a ripple in the stream,
a wave in the ocean my friend.
You are a single purple flower growing
alone in a forest,
a ray of sunlight.
You are a poem,
A poem that matters to someone,
a factor in someone’s life.
You
matter.
Ah me
the sun knows me
I who was not there when.
did he say when?
oh nonsense writer
sing your nonsense
sing your song of what.
what?
what?
oh nonsense writer
sing your song for whom.
whom?
oh nonsense words be there on this page
this meaningless page which isn’t really
there.
Am I really
really
there?
Did he say there?
Here?
Here?
where?
over here
yes over here
that’s it come on
over here
now that you are here
in this little box
this nonsense box
now that you are here,
Where are
you?