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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  12/21/2014 3:11:39 AM
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Warren Falcon   Best Poems From
  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
 
 
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  153.     

Of Bells Anatomy

of bells
anatomy there
is much to
say

of the
elements,
zinc, copper,
tin, & more
while not for-
getting brass
more commonly
used

of infusion
into cuppolas

the beating
the shaping
heat also to
be given account
amounts much into
bells conformed
gracefully out
in the end

but only
as metal,
sharp tongues
blunted can of
bells then speak

tonally only

overtones inviolate

in violent swings
side to side the
hard knock shocks
into, quakes into
belfry beyond
dance of iron
bronze overtaking
&
annunciant round
of hammers

so many dawns

times so many

goings down of

the sun

O lover

of thee

I adore

in timbre

thru the

window rings

the arms too

cling wring

out

breath to

breath

outreach this

to introduce some
levity

for we (loves)
were many day-ed

times merry

we merrily played

harming no one,

the god you insisted

be excluded from

all our nakedness

many breaths

exchanged, groped

times the many

ropes

all our

wanting

hands emptier
sensitive finger-
tips filligreed
prints your
body hairs
sifted imprinted
touching softly

no matter
the black or
blue tide

of thee
O lover

what
slips out
ebbs black
back into lapis

lapses into what
self is (a bell
shaped fiercely
formed)

uttered/poured,
scored trans-
parent upon
surfaces

faces which are
even
eyes which now
glaze with love/
loss

a multitude
of petals

peels

the jasmine
unspurned
at last

at last/least
O return
soft Junes
the lips curved
out to ring
sing of
which are
sometimes
pink, of
lavender
swollen

as if to kiss

the antinomies

a string

of pearls

anemones

& thee

bring all them

back, so many,

to me now

their vespers

once was laughter
spent

seeking out
between bodies

continents
valleys eternally

shifting eluding
rapture

contraction
of sentinel
bells against
each of each
reaching

the clappers
their constraining
rounds in too too
secure now rafters
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  154.     

Of Hungry Pockets

For Frederique


Nothing to lose, this rag of selves.

With what glory remains of hungry pockets

I skip forward singing, La La La, a willful

don, a lord of nothing-much, poems a'pocket
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  155.     

Of Li Po Waking The Morning After, circa 1981

'Let me be forever drunk and never come to reason!
Sober men of olden days and sages are forgotten,
And only the great drinkers are famous for all time.' - Li Po

'We share life's joys when sober.
Drunk, each goes a separate way.' - Li Po


Waking up among these frail green things,
by the stream I hear the hornets singing.
I do not fear them but I fear the sting
of light as day creeps into my shade.

I have read of sad and joyful things
under last night's moon and now I weep
for the Immortals fading from light
to light with their pockets of pine bark
and resin to chew, their wine of sorrow
to drink in their, and my, sorrowful season.

I am homesick for the earth as
these old poets knew it,
a thin veil of mountains,
winter birds pecking at suet,
some girls dancing, and a wife,
some young sons to pull the reeds up
fishing and weeping for my exposed
wino bones while I sit, drunk, pronouncing
upon the deeds of state. Pitiable.

Let there be leaving taking and coming to,
drinking and drinking again,
playing fool to the wisdom of the ages,
remarking at those unkind sages
who always smack their lips for war.
Give me again the hilltop cave,
the pilgrim come to call at the door.
Fires I will then light for this age.

Who comes to me in this season for reason
besides the bee and the mite, the winding gourd?
I have sat here in one spot so long
I begin to lose my sight. Look!
The stream is growing a beard in the daylight!

No word can bring back the Immortals but for wino joys.
There is a blight upon our time. I have been faithful to it
tipping my cup. The present is sufficient but I admit
I am ready to go. My time has come.

Leave the world to the scoundrels!


[POET'S NOTE: I wrote the above poem in response to Li Po's famous poem, 'Alone And Drinking Under the Moon'. Here it is, by Li Po:

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,
and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon
accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are
friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  156.     

Older Age, Basho In Mind

.
for Nimal


Road gets narrower

eyesight dims,

even signs wave


Basho's ghost

guides with ink,


HERE NOT HERE


Can't ever cross

Rainbow Bridge


Beneath it, though,

a billet of mist
 
Warren Falcon
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon