Home | Contact Us

Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  8/22/2014 6:35:42 PM
Search For Poems & Poets:


Warren Falcon   Best Poems From
  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
<< prev. page

Page: 1 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 40 50 60 65

next page >>



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



Fragments Beginning With A Line By Berryman

for Karthik

Childness let's have us honey

flame intended

name smeared

on the glass

an accidental


x hands touching it


as trespass

what is allowed

lace of


x want

= at last a sum

= at last a remorse


a memory

sunk into

soft teas




said window

said prints,

views obscured

of nothing

in particular,

or special,

troubles only,

only of passing

birds enamored


(their lighter



are they

cloud and shadow?

merely the steep

sun declining ashen

into the Jersey side?

O come lover


the floor where we

lay times upon boards

the cluttered

clothes the


x at least 3

and take me once

again one

x infinity

into your arms

x 2

leave me when

you/we are done doing

x 0

a mere cypher flown

sheer up the flue

into the blue ash

which now the sky is


(there is only one


a dove flies

into some possibility

of memory

or not

x 35 thousand

x plus the time it

takes for you to exit

shedding skins, shells

(am a shell,
water you?
you decide)

x infinity into

the one drain in-

to ocean reflecting

blue sky of ash

into what remains

of you on the beach

bathing soft Junes

the organ grinder

smiles/sings 'amor

fati' mellifluously

the boardwalk on

x planks from

many trees

x ants in the

roots lumber

their endless

burdens black

or red carapaces

shining as if


x grains untold

as hairs their

bodies follicles

delicate when

under the glass


over-spilling into

o endlessly

it's seams, it seems

into memory

which is, already


overheard redundantly

a river

and time,

this one


the cloud drift

and the river

the tides beside

the city both sides

is as ancient

as it always was

& is

in the beginning

was darkness

over deep water

& a word, any word

really would do

form something

out of deep, of

dark, of water

which shapes it-

self only by outer


in this case

a word

leading up to



of bellies



x 2, and legs

x 4, and lips

x myriad ones gone

before of murmurs

O lover

of thee

I adore

I am unkindly

left remembering

once was laughter


seeking out

between bodies'

valleys eternally

shifting eluding



just to re-

introduce some

levity for we

were many day-ed

x merry

merrily played

harming no one

not even the

mouse unmoved

perhaps, watching

perhaps, still,

still, from beneath

the god you insisted

be excluded from

all our nakedness

x 1 too many breaths

exchanged, groped

x many ropes all our


the curtained

dancer entranced

entered into

upon a mystery

how one could

be so, well,

so marvelous

& so cruel too

as one wills

a silver stem

sharp the metal

top jags memory-

edge tears open


that there was love,

there was love after


I could see

it smell it

feel it there

dancing round

the livingroom

one holds

on to & upon

goodness brown

pulled from below

down & dark & deep

such is so

this is the

riddle it is

all now become

since you

departed, love

since you

departed I shall

count backward by

3's then 4's the

door which once

embraced you now

never lets you


no matter

the black or

blue tide

of thee

O lover


slips out

ebbs black

back into


lapses into what

self is uttered/

poured scored

transparent upon

surfeit surface


which are


eyes which now

glaze with love


beside the flue

marked upon the

pane blue

the mouse

black remains

is many

a multitude

of petals

x 3

the jasmine


at last at



soft Junes

the lips of

which are


pink of


swollen as

if to kiss

x 3 the antinomies

a string of pearls

& thee O lover

back to me


loud where the

curtains sway

I stand behind

them the curtained

dancer entranced

entered into

upon a mystery

the organ grinder

smiles/sings 'amor

fati' mellifluously on
Warren Falcon



from 'Ragas For Krishna'

A little boy waking up at dawn, asking his dear mama for an omelet to eat:

'Sleepy Bee, ' she called to him. 'Go, my Sleepy Bee, to the garden and be sure to smell the jasmine there, touch softly the spices in trembling rows, fetch then some chilies of many colors and I will prepare for you a dish as you wish. When the teacher makes you sleepy by noon reach then your fingers to your face, smell the spices there, remember the touch of smooth skinned chilies whispering of lingering liaisons to come, and you will brighten my Sleepy Bee.'

A chili omelet she would make, a side of yogurt to soothe the burn, and milk from the cow drawn before dawn's first udder swelled against the press of distant hills where even the Temple soundly sleeps so very full and pleased with itself. Mother, each morning as he stumbles, rubbing his eyes, into the garden, tells him,

You may shout if you wish to wake

the Temple for the cow cannot speak -

Wake up! Awake! Make haste!

Lord Indra comes! Prepare the wicks,

the incense sticks for His Holy Fire!

Hasten! Hurry! Quicken!

There beside Lord Indra's captured fire in the little grate her Bee awakens watching her slow movements, the slicing of chilies, the removal of seeds, the washing again of plump hands, the cracking of eggs, beating them with the whisk, spreading ghee upon the hot flat stone, the enchantment of liquid whites and yokes becoming firm, becoming food. She turns them in round rhythms as she rhythmically prays.

After eggs and chilies are eaten comes the rose oil poured upon his raven hair smoothly brushed back to reveal his shining face, his smile. She prepares him for school with kisses, his uniform freshly cleaned, ironed, smelling, too, of rose-flavored soap. Then off to school with a lunch, a string of chilies of all colors sewn together, sewn when he was still in a waking dream.

'The chilies may burn, ' he tells me, speaking slowly, enunciating each syllable, practicing through smiles, returning to my gaze. 'But not like the touch of my mother's hand. She is far away but I can feel her burning hands on me now.' He smiles. I stammer. How can one enunciate such wonder?

\Visionary company, Krishna, his mother, and me.

from 'Ragas For Krishna'
Warren Falcon



from 'Ragas For Krishna' - Part 3

from 'Ragas For Krishna'

Sleepy Bee, he is rising beneath me, the hidden god is pleased

Somniculosus Apis, Sleepy Bee
Ascendit infra me, He rises beneath me
Deus absconditus placet, The hidden God is pleased

He is busy preparing a repast of sacred chilies of his Mother's garden born. Who will hear him sing their praises but me present alone with him here?

Yesterday Krishna arrived more radiant than when we first met beside the cardamom and the ghee in the intoxicating basement of the Indian food and spice shop not easily hidden below the sidewalk, such aromas cannot to be tucked away like the shop is, beside and below the avenue, just as his radiance cannot, should not, be hidden.

Which flower should I adorn my table with? I ask, approaching shyly beside the spice bins. I buzz inside, a bee for the nectar.

If you serve, says he, If you serve with cardamom and ghee then flowers three are best, the jasmine, the oleander, the anthurium. But if choosing only one, he looks at me, something insistent, responding, in his eyes, I would choose for you the anthurium.

And so we begin our time together, the first demur approaches, the blushing papayas, the cooking lessons, then the fires, the chilies harvested, curtains drawn. One day perhaps I shall fall but in this way:

I shall fling
the curtains back
Open the window
Throw cut sleeves,
for years gathered,
hidden, to the street.
Shouting out names
of lovers, I shall then
leap openly out, into,
land softly upon ginkgo
leaves and, golden, kiss
every parked car leaving
lip traces upon hoods,
trunks, windshields and,
lustily, rear view mirrors
reviewing all yore's cut
sleeves of love, secret
no longer, newly in love
with all the world and
if not all the world then
all the grinning griddled
faces of chrome and a
fiddle dee dee for the
fall of me into he who
has become my home

How I had to teach him what lovers
give to each how to kiss how to touch
how love is fluctuate fluent in dirty
tongues entanglements with the world

Still I have fluttered mightily in long
tangles of hair black, black his darker
eyes shine his bottom lip petulant hungry
for mine and those his parts smooth rivaling
Everest always beckoning to be climbed

And surprises
tenderness on his part
graces unexpected quick disrobing

the easy nakedness the hunger so
clean the affection grown from early
flings to ring heart rosaries forged

toes fall down to tumbles
grasps and pressing flesh
its own alchemy merging
but let there be two solid
but encroachable objects
together crushed into each

He is soon departed
likelihood of similar rare
the room empties
late afternoon shadows
his leaving leaves
traces and I am full


emptiness is never fuller but
for beloved's absence felt which
of course is

the mystic's launch
the desert dweller and the roof
the longing tooth gnawing

one claws inwardly through
layers to find that Name which
Holier Ones say is written on
the back of the Heart

Thus remain I here in monk cell
soon to be more the monk's than
once spunk monkey's boudoir
Warren Falcon
<< prev. page

Page: 1 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 40 50 60 65

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