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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  4/24/2015 8:49:52 PM
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Warren Falcon   Best Poems From
  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
 
 
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  145.     

Kahlo

to come to terms
with what happens
repeatedly

18 years of age
piercing metal violates

turns into something
utterly astonished

livid

burns to vapor


still each canvas
backward falls

cruel alchemical
vas splinters
unrelenting nerves


encased steel-plated Virgin
takes a cyclops for a lover.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  146.     

Leave Taking, After Matsuo Basho, Circa 1978

'There is a blessed fidelity in things.
Graceless things grow lovely with good uses.' - John Tarrant


Expecting more rain.
Not yet light though 6 a.m.-
night still over the barn.


From the porch, high wind.
The moon, a corner of it,
rides comfortably in clouds.


Clouds moving over mountains,
their night work -
some rain in the buckets.


Bestowing order,
things feel their boundaries,
robes of autumn rain.


Back to bed,
just-dawning.
Noises in these old walls -
mice search for food or string,
bird stretching its wings.


Soon these things I must leave -
wood smoke, frayed rope coil,
finger prints on faded walls' wrong color.


Last flights -
on the sill
scattered wings,
musky corners'
gently waving webs.


A fertile shelter.
Many nights I have wrestled here.
Some mornings have
broken into me like thunder.


I have shed skin after skin.
These I leave behind.
Some warmth they may
provide for the mice,
rags for the moths to eat.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  147.     

Llama Looks Up

Llama looks up from her evening feed of field greens.

Sees me,

blinks through a mist by long
eyelashes purled rising silently while I read my book
foolishly head down in the midst of springing slow
surprise -

gratuitous is this veiled field, wet,
soft, an unexpected llama looking long at me,
taking me in.

Raiment mist stops at the hem of the darkening woods,

requisite red barn, old, leans against the ribbon
of ground fog hovering, a wire fence almost invisible;

gray wire in white cloud, between me and that cloud
and that great llama attracted (I like to think this)

by my kissing sounds, her ope't eyes,
bestowing near me now, suddenly

look down,

the small head always tilts one side to the other,
little mouth a posed curiosity chewing like a child,
the long graceful neck, shagged soft fur thickly flowing,

disappears into tall grass.


I note this now from yesterday the grace
of animals who held me in their long gaze.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  148.     

Loose Train Haiku #4

For the blind woman
on the train every
journey is inner.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon