www.PoemsAbout.com

     Home | Contact Us

Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  3/4/2015 2:33:40 AM
Search For Poems & Poets:
POEMS ABOUT
 angel
 beautiful
 daughter
 death
 friend
 girl
 greed
 hero
 home
 hope
 kiss
 life
 lonely
 loss
 lost
 love
 memory
 money
 music
 nature
 night
 power
 rain
 school
 sleep
 soldier
 summer
 sun
 war
 

 

 
Warren Falcon   Best Poems From
  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
 
 

Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 20 30 40 50 60 67

next page >>

 
   
 

  1.     

Abandoned Train Station Near Grandmother's Grave

for Lida Harris

Then died there the rose beside the house of tin.

The track bore no train for years.
Weeds travel tendriled and
yellow rooted between trestles.
Broken vessels whistle through
shattered teeth of glass.
Only wind and no rusted train passes.

Though the scene bears dislocation,
though the brain remembers station and motion
of steam engine and iron wheel rotation
the places of old gone passing
bear no malice toward stillness.
All around mute remains remind the
occasional passer of former days;

an old snuff tin crumbled in a reverent hand
longs for the woman grasping then,
holds sweet dust beneath her tongue
as the land must hold her now where is
no whisper but sleep beyond sleep.

Weeds to the eye are sad between rails
but listening to their green and yellow belles
the rightness of their swaying displaces all sorrow.
Their distance is a distance one cannot know
but only borrow in imagination by extension
of miles, their reach is ours then, translated
green and longing, their leaves throng the
evening air, in silent clamor fling down seed
to summer's blundering prayer.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  2.     

Nicht-Gesicht/Not Face by Rainer Maria Rilke

From the German, translated by Priscilla Washburn Shaw:

Face, my face: whose are you; for what things are you face? How can you be face for such insides, whose something is beginning continually rolled together with dissolving? Has the forest a face? Does not the mountain basalt stand facelessly there? Does the sea not raise itself without face, up from the ocean-floor; is not the sky reflected within, without forehead, without mouth, without chin?

Do not animals come to us sometimes as if they were pleading: take my face. Their face is too heavy for them and because of it they hold their tiny little soul too far into life. And we, animals of the soul, confused by everything in us, not yet ready for nothing; we grazing souls: do we not implore the Allotter by night to grant us the not-face which belongs with our darkness-
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  3.     

'right on the snow' haiku

why try write one


WHOOSH!

no brush

no ink

one long stroke -


s'a white owl, I think
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  4.     

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



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

prayer is oil the dead come home to

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
   
 
 

Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 20 30 40 50 60 67

next page >>

 

 
BEST POEMS:  (Click on a topic to list and read the poems)
 angel poems
 
beautiful poems
 
death poems
 
friend poems
 girl poems
 
home poems
 
hope poems
 
kiss poems
 life poems
 
loss poems
 
love poems
 
music poems
 nature poems
 
rain poems
 
school poems
 
sex poems
 soldier poems
 
summer poems
 
sun poems
 
war poems
 
(c) Poems are the property of their respective owners.
All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge.. 
Contact Us | About Us | Copyright notice | Privacy statement

Poems By Poet Warren Falcon