There Are A Thousand Ways

There Are A Thousand Ways, by PHILIP ALPHONSE RIZZO, published in Spillway number 6, 1997

I long for the earth
Honor dirt in fingernails
soil that blows into corners

Thank the dust
clarioned from the stars
impacts the tundra
that feed caribou

Bless ancestral ashes
that make roses bloom
Praise Sahara dunes
the droppings of camels
and horses

Give reverence to
warm grays ochres siennas
the burnt umber
that roots the pine
in Sedona

I love the black humus
that sticks to Italian names
hugs celery
around Rome and Utica

Kneel and kiss bricks
fired to propagate courtyards
Massage glazing pots
hungering for marigolds

Prostrate myself before loam
holy blend that substrates
corn and wheat and soy beans
in Iowa and Nebraska
gives artichokes to salads
grapes to wind in California

Wash not my hands too well
after digging in the garden

Am not harsh with what we were
or shall become

 

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AR – 1ip 5ervice

AR – 1ip 5ervice

my father called his wallet a billfold

simply put a portable engagement

for goods and services

our n.r.a. has a billfold too

simply put a stable lobby

for goods and services

guised as rights (by god no less)

you are folded under leather

with no haggling in the street

with no argument for debate

           you are wrong

           they are right

          — i never feared the paper tiger

                                           — until now

 

Spun

There was an amusement ride at one time

I chanced to climb upon, which held the

Thrill seekers hard up against  a spun wall

 

Centrifugal force suspended us as the floor

Gave way beneath us, physics fully trusted

Regaining our footing we would laugh

 

Today the floor appears to have vanished

We have spun ourselves into a mire where

We dream that the spinning will not end

Autumn Valentine

I just received my 1936 copy of Dorothy Parker‘s “The Collected Poetry Of Dorothy Parker”.  Here I share the final poem in the book, a wry and timely piece, shining a succinct light on the ever changing attitudes of love and infatuation.  That gal cracks me up.  ~TH~

dp_poetry

AUTUMN VALENTINE

In May my heart was breaking-

Oh wide the wound, and deep!

And bitter it beat at waking,

And sore it split in sleep.

And when it came November,

I sought my heart, and sighed,

“Poor thing, do you remember?”

“What heart was that?” it cried.

Improvised Reeds

Improvised Reeds

It was my mother who taught me to cradle a

Blade of grass between my thumbs

Cuticles aligned and haunches pressed together

Creating the reed chamber

 

The first time she fashioned this magic

We sat by our hickory tree

The rock-hard nuts would sound off on any car

Parked too close to the cinderblock wall

 

My mother and I shared a penchant for silence

When we were among the fall leaves and branches

She plucked a broad grass from between us, blowing

Setting it loudly aquiver, shrill as a clarinet

 

Startling miraculous sound!

Please, yes! Show me how it’s done

It was then my mother taught me

The pleasant nature of patient curiosity.