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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  8/23/2014 12:20:16 PM
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  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
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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



Alchemical Passes For Father and Son - Turning Thighs to Diamonds - Third Pass


Wild strawberries,
all authority and
accidental grace,
you reveal too much,
dew wet, still sticky
to the touch.

Opening sourness
deserves a frown.
Sweetness slowly
yields surprise for
what always unites -

untended desire
gone to wildness
brought low
beneath branches,

slow embrace of
cradle boughs,

entangled legs
and light.

And shadows shall win the day.

That wild sweetness is a stolen base.

That the tongue is an untended garden.

That there is a burning soft hands can know.
Warren Falcon



'And The Daylight Separated The Mad Boy From His Shadow' - Cancion for Garcia Lorca

for M
the blurs
'everything is descending,
even the scholarship of the
ancient adverbs, '
process of seeing
now wrinkles

creases from
to temple

into hairline
creases from
too narrow

O see (sings
Golondrina (swallow)

little feet

of tin

in the jardin

blue walls the
infolded cloak
of the Virgin

A task for daylight -
separating mad boys from
shadows -
un-ordinary ones

Lorca's 'shrugs its
shoulders like a girl.'

Ordinary gestures
the mad boys may
be taken into arms
or dressed in strange
garb maybe all in the
gesture beyond
ordinary remains
always becoming
image such as are
gestures' embraces

ventures for affection.
But from whom?

The mad boy
writes feeble colors
for love

the halt the lame
the mute which
within around
which intends
bends distorts
(in your glass
case) twists
takes traps light
to separate
the mad world
from shadow

we are

thus take our
place with clowns who
know tomatoes thrown
and juggler's (bare necked)
necessary concentration.

You are the maestro here
whom I trail behind at respectful


murdered by the too ordinary

So long

So long

to image
to suffer on dear
bruised M the
void of course

o bring me
beauty no matter
how terrible

created by His
own opening
which makes
Him forever
Lorca's girl

'a pomegranate

[a god] biggish
and green and
I can't take her
in my arms or
dress her.

Won't she come back?

Why won't she? '

You, dear, will read
of my heterosexual shadow

a great lover who serenades
Her in the terrible contradiction

of the moon caught
in bare tree limbs/strophes

just outside Her window
the fool below in rouge

head hung, singing

O hurt

heart's tin can tied
to belt loop behind
of his ragged pants


to be filled with
whatever flows

in the dirty lane
he leans his
love against

this asterisk
which contains an aster
is a rose transforming yet again
because it can


has willed it obediently into being
letter by letter, petal by petal
bee kissed by brazen bees
a clutch of stamens
assassin's ink
out flowing
Warren Falcon



Anunciación - para César Vallejo

Llegar tarde al Amor

la torre rota
llora su ruina timbre.
Larga sequía del aire
alambiques el badajo.

Pero un solo aliento, Trembler,
grietas de metal.
Mudez cae.

Palomas asustadas dispersan.

Anunciación de balseros:


Recuerde la alegría,
cómo balancearse.

¿Quién tira de la cuerda
son muchas.

Moneda de plata,
volar desde

fuente de vacío,

renovar en
mano de deseo
de un santo
oración bolsillo

Pobres de corazón, de dispersión.

Pan, se hinchan al
apoyándose monumentos.

por los muertos,

crecer salvajemente
pellizcar los amantes

quien besar




Gallo Negro,
buscando, a los arañazos
todas las madrugadas.
Warren Falcon
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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon