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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  3/4/2015 10:44:14 AM
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Warren Falcon   Best Poems From
  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
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Fragment From An 11th Century Japanese Scroll

a better world is

between the teeth

on tips of tongues

on lip perimeters

strung by kisses
Warren Falcon



Have Joyed In His Heaving Forth, Dante In Brief


in Latin
have joyed in his
heaving forth
rung by rung

by his tongue
to gain a
beyond the castle
Warren Falcon



I Can't Close My Eyes, What Wings Also Are For

To myself
without whom

With this anniversary I accept my
avian better half though the human
half be allergic to feathers wedded
to an inhaler, plumage still embraced
in spite of the divided self.

The hard beak gently preens eyelashes
one by one each hair.

The odd eye-stare, the bobbing the
jerky head especially when walking
less so when hopping, do you even notice?

To hear,
the head tips to one side then
the other.

It is all
sound that is out of

I sing to windows from forests,
to rooftops from street puddles.

I bathe in mirrors of sky.

Trite to say it, grand to do it.

Rumor has it that I once was a reptile.


And so too are you, disguised, two legs
thickly meated of the ubiquitous hairs
everywhere inflated eyes up front,
not much perspective or balance,

like a weak pine you fall more than I
and when I do it's on purpose (unless
it's for love) without complaint of the
air which never fails. Air, that is.
Just to be clear.

Just to be clear, I am at home wherever I
land scanning available horizons which are
also always home.

High, low. Vertical is the thing. And spin.

Speed goes without saying.

Greatly fond of drift, I am easy in the


I will not speak of dawn's greatness,

how you quickly forget.

You say that I repeat myself often,
am limited in expression to only a few notes,
clipped patterns in the song, the cryptic
call always an ellipsis. Boring, you say.

Interpretations, really,
it's all in the inflection
after all the years now.


there's always the dancing too
in powder blue without shoes or
need of them,

claws nicely do the
deed is done the changeling comes
note that I am singing to you how
the way it's done.

I tell you the weather but do you listen?

For love, shall I say it again?

I shall say it again.

For love I leave calligraphy in guano

but you do not read it much less see that
are its messages all around.

And still I am with you trying
to wake you. I peck. I scratch.
I even dance again, a frenzy brightly
ruffled, boasting to impress:

I can lay an egg! You?

Words only.
Brittle sticks
but none to land on,
or perch.

Standing on one leg,
head beneath a wing,
I am so tired.

I can't close my eyes, what wings also are for.
Warren Falcon



Instead of the Griffin Prize* All I Get is the Griffin** or What I Get for Reading Too Much Godd*mned Charles Bukowski - A Poem-in-Cheek

for Karthik gone almost a year now,
so much for mythology

I live
beneath a rock under a rusted old half-
bridge beneath the only cloud on earth
that doesn't move unless a rare bird,
a big one, flies beneath it.

I would be magic.

The rare bird, large,
avoids any attachment to other than me.

Sh*ts on my head.

I make a cup of tea.
Listen to Bach (J.S) ,
Gould's, The Goldberg, ***

keep pointing to the radio
shaking my head muttering,
whistling between fragments.

I open the curtain at midnight and wait.
Lights of the big planes shine directly
in on me. Like that godd*mned bird,
they're in my flight path.

I am nervous.
But they don't fly over.
They don't sh*t on my head.

Still, I wait there till very early in the
morning, till just before sunrise.

Close call, I say.

I draw the curtain,

fall hard into bed covering my head
with a pillow, the gold multi-mirrored
pillowcase, a gift from the most beautiful
of lovers (both from India)

just in case.


*The Griffin Prize, Canada's most generous poetry award,
founded by businessman and philanthropist Scott Griffin.

**The griffin, griffon, or gryphon (Greek: grύphon, or grύpon, early form, grύps; Latin: gryphus) is a legendary creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle. As the lion was traditionally considered the king of the beasts and the eagle was the king of the birds, the griffin was thought to be an especially powerful and majestic creature. The griffin was also thought of as king of the creatures. Griffins are known for guarding treasure and priceless possessions.
[from wikipedia]

***The Goldberg Variations. J.S. Bach. Performed by Glenn Gould:

Copy and paste: http: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=UGPJDgp2-9A&feature=related
Warren Falcon
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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon