Poems of the month

Anatomy of Failure

Shadows passed over the statues in the night —
crossed them, hesitated, vanished;
even the dust was white as a bird.

Someone had loved me, had
stopped loving me. I had
failed in a minute but final way;

all the words exchanged
risen past the boundaries
of what had been made

and what wasn't yet outlined, risen
like a parrot toward a sky
only to find a painted ceiling and a stenciled sun.

I lived in a museum, slept
up against a body of stone,
spine to block-grey base

as a stranger's face looked
down upon me,
a bird in someone else's mind.

February 27, 2006

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The Whistler and His Dog

I steal out to see stars
   multiply. If I breathe now
I'll crack a rock,
   bring the whole thing
down on my head. But I breathe
   and hold still, watching as
children slide past Sirius
   down steep slopes, brides scattering
bouquets, tumbling fruit turning
   back to seedtime. It could be
anything. Put what you like
   up there. I had planned
to photograph this shower
   but there is something comic
about the cosmic. So I set off
   under a falling sky, laughing
and stumbling in the dark,
   whistling "The Whistler and His Dog."
I have no dog and can barely
   hold a tune. But I keep going.
This is what I mean.

Brian Swann
The Southern Review
Volume 41, Number 4
Autumn 2005

A Dream

(by Edgar Allan Poe)

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?

Untitled

By:Terah Caldwell

No one new.

No one old.

Nothing left

All alone

Fading Fast

Out of reach.

Gone the past

No new future

No new friends

End of beginning.

End of ends

SOLIDARITY

The trains are crowded tonight
Newcastle are playing that team from Spain
Shoulder to shoulder we fight
The bombers have struck again and again
They're our opponents who vie for the prize
Our glorious companions with tears in our eyes.

BR.

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