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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  7/31/2014 8:40:19 PM
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Warren Falcon   Best Poems From
  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
 
 

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  1.     

Ars Poetica Redux

Dying trees fall easily.
Poems, too, as they should.
Dead wood rots from which
One good poem may grow,
The better to hear in the higher
Branches, the creaking lower limbs.

Sequestering lovers late afternoon
Whisper. One is carving the bark,
A crude heart with names within.

Now unread, unspoken but for the overgrown
Path, a bark-less scar now where was the heart,
Without thought, without desire, write only this,

'How arms entwine, how branches break'.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  2.     

A Shabbos Poem Beginning With A Line From Zukofsky - Upon Finding A Book Of His Poems On A Street Corner Manhattan Lower East

for Gerald & Shirah Kober Zeller

Lord, lord...why are our finest always dead,
prayer is oil the dead come home to

two Hassids young bring candles
for Shabbas only a few hours till
sundown prayers

perhaps even in this cafe they
watch books gather on the familiar
corner where shopkeepers' decades
pass hurry home before dark with
candles, cares, the wares of religion,
the Book & dream, a distant land
made close by old songs kindled,
finest ones still kindred made the
stronger by fire and voices-one
mingled with Mendelssohn
and the later oranges


from traffic to street corner
1st Ave. and St. Marks now
here 'Z' is lifted up pages
gummed literally spit out
years of countless Chicklets
spat 2-per-box-a-nickle a
lover's quarrel with the
shoe-and-should what good
come of the chewing masses
hurrying home or to ferry
over river/bay to old brick

even the convent on the hill
just up from the undocking
crowd is dark for want of mercy

ramparts lift by Chambers above
African graves, the slaves of
South Ferry sentinel terminal
near ferries' toil as lower Manhattan
lights a menorah towering despite
what is now worshiped there knowing
that home, the one sought(even now)
more resides in words aflame reciting
the Name, One alone, then of
patriarchs the bearded whole lot
of them who murmur still for all
our want and next year next year
will be different for we shall no
longer be here but in Holy City
finally gathered


cabs blur yellow/gypsy
in angular winter light
now dazzle before Spring
when raises dead bulbs to
jonquils potted pretty in
windows, on stoops and,
wild, strayed in parks

do not, O, pass us by or over
for all our patient harping

come morrows under willows yet
we shall hang up our loves again

get back to work
honest scrub and clean

beside the avenue
stand recalling willows
never seen

and grieve still an old
yet present eviction in
the cities of men
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  3.     

Erotic Lullaby For Bedding, After Roethke

Belly belly the hard boiled egg.
I map out of a dream.
Love a long necked boy.

Dance lips! Leaves of legion.
Jelly, yard dog! Leap to June.

Suckle me, honey,
long necked, boney onion.
Why cry when peeled?

Count the rings of a tree,
the circles of a breath.
The nose is a love.
Press me, press me.
Iron me soft.

A breath leans,
nape of jeans falling.

Wedge me, wedge me.
Be an ax.
Clap me, trunk of calcium,
bone of need.

Sing, throat, puller of weeds,
secret coronations.
I day your arbor.
You arbor my seed,
belly belly
egg of sway.

Falter me,
long necked, naked boy.
Lather I'd rather thee.

All egg is joy.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  4.     

In Excelsis Deo - Variations Of A Surrealist Carol For Madrigal Choir To Be Sung While Bathing

1

Hair of soap and head of tears
rinse mine eyes of Christmas stars
O bells, the bells sear me

Wash my hair of splendid fears
water me hot and redly rare
O trumps, the trumpets blear me

Scars heal me up to here
scald me pinkly if you dare
O gay, the gay sleds slay me

Is that flesh floating on the surface me
who swims or sinks fraternally?

I know a strange me
with soap for eyes
and suds for see

Eternally yours,

He.

2

Hair of soap
and head of tears
Rinse mine eyes
of Christmas stars

O Bells, the Bells sear me.

Rinse mine eyes
of Christmas stars
Water me hot
and redly rare

O Fey, the Fey stars blear me.

Water me hot
and redly rare
Scald me pinkly
if you dare

O Gay, the Gay sleds slay me.

Is that flesh
floating on the
surface me who
swims or sinks
fraternally?

I know a strange me

with soap for eyes
and suds to see

Eternally yours,

He.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 
 

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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon