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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  9/2/2014 6:37:19 PM
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  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)

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Das Lied Von Der Erde [The Song of the Earth]

Das Lied Von Der Erde

[The Song of the Earth by Gustav Mahler,
a song cycle of poems by Chinese poet Li Bai,
famous wandering poet of the Tang Dynasty]

I will listen then
as I do now to Mahler

I will out pour this
red wine

half fill
the glass

at the
intrusive mouse hiss

herald of The End
that is in contralto


I will listen
will recover such
air enough around
to go on sing my
song tio-tangle in
tree limbs Van Gogh
still somewhere paints

knees sore
now and always
a call
to prayer

to woo in
old boots
worn leather

Weak knees
make me to

to which I
have only just
in a dream

renewed my wedding vows


I am drawn water
from artesian wells

I am a bath in night stars

I am swelling night mirage

I am heat vectors
day-heated earth-making

I am giddier star dance

on the porch at night
(so the shy mountain
cannot see)

I am rain water
gathered rhythmically
from the tin roof tonal



in pots all kinds


O stand radiant-starred late afternoon

O stained stark shadows black frieze

astonished stooped man

time's wee piss-boy

damp bunk-bed mattress fears

O stand glazed from edges

gaze to bark

vine maps of escape

Iron shadows

impress long into

wet pit

sun shard

spy glass

throat sore

cracked song for dirty boots
Warren Falcon



What Remains, Remains

Stricken with 'arrhythmia',
or so my doctor do say which,
the name of an ancient queen, Ethiopian,
first century, leads caravansary into
dunes and what remains undisclosed
beyond weighted horizon,
to Her I yield my heart no
matter its many loans overdue.

Here is my trifle then in
earnest, a release.

Call in the priest
whose ancient hand's
most unsteady,
a lifetime of withholding.

I remain for the moment free.

Between St. Marks and the horizon my fingers still work.
Warren Falcon



Poem For Caravaggio - Contemplating 'The Conversion of St. Paul' At 4 a.m.

In the shorter light, the extended
night of cold and star-bright questions,
may you cast clumsy net forward into
what it all might mean to fretted you,
to me, stretched canvas, though I will
not thrust these words upon your paint
or palette but make offering for your
own work to feed us through the eyes;
perhaps time to remount the horse
and soldier on, or to fall again, gain
Damascus perspective, from one's
back watch vision distort massive
horse into a God receding into necessary
darkness foregoing image,

see what may form in the spreading dirt,

what resurrection there is in the smell of paint.
Warren Falcon



Two Haiku Deconstructing Themselves & A Pear Tree


so many pages torn out
a pear tree forgets only itself as
an audacity


no illusion of darkness
hastens the pear

But O it tastes
Warren Falcon

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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon