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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  8/27/2015 4:23:36 PM
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Warren Falcon   Best Poems From
  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
 
 
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  153.     

Loose Train Hokku-No-Renga

For the blind woman
on the train every
journey is inner

She touches my shoulder,
moves one seat ahead
feels the winter collar

metal ring pinned
to its shoulder
smiles when she touches it

dark rings of her eyes
light up momentarily

What universes are in the heads all around me
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  154.     

Lost Postcards From J. Alfred Prufrock

What I did on my long summer vacation, do still, my gargoyle self needing to literally become stone, sit on ledges, frighten pigeons and prayers of les miserables wafting from the Cathedral below. Here habitation is free. Views fabulous. Unlike when in my office where I must be vigilant about neighbors beside and below me, I can gargle loudly with rain, drown out the chorales of promise, the sorrow motets, the swollen rounds of Rosary and grief, one bead chipped, belief, breaks the chain entire.

Continually clearing my throat beside the spire, up here all bets are off. The freedom of margins comes at a cost. But I have credit which is never due, and the card no expiration date alluding toward Eternity. Eternity, that delusion, can wait. As an installation myself, an installment plan (such is salvation) makes no sense. Who looks up anyway but children and drunks. Seen from a distance I am considered a quaint sentinel, a signal to 'an archaic authority'. An old heretic of Alchemical bent, Paracelsus, says it straight - 'Let him not be another's who can be his own.' Yet a modern poet echoing another asks: 'How Much Longer Shall I Be Able To Inhabit The Divine' (via Ted Berrigan via John Ashberry) . Content enough, I sit near It, never within, but one may use the idea of such, eternity - go forward or behind, wince at the word - living in the blue rind of sky crumbling onto nether shore where relentless waves tease relentless wind disturbing a lone relentless tern tracing uremic rims of foam.

Shall I call then Eternity a home for shells, a curve in space? disgrace myself yet again with belief, any one, believe that such shores are a where after all, a place to shelter, each wave somewhere by someone or something counted as is every numbered hair counted still? they fall as do waves into crescendos' rainbows should the sun so shine for what is left to comb of shore and hair is a disturbance of fractions, refractions, the forlorn redaction of what is perceived, felt, spilt upon the depilating pate. And so I in human form must wear a hat but let us not go then you and I patiently into all that but when come time proper, a hair fall caught in a shaft of sun light, the endless comb over undone, wind blown upon the ledge and shore, then we shall speak of it sure, and more

now then here then
remembering too the chaffing bloody garters.
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  155.     

Marcabre Dance For A Dead Mouse, After Robert Burns And Theodore Roethke

.
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky? - Sarojini Naidu


Wee brisket.
Gray fodder.
Thou art today tossed down
fat with grain.
Teeth sing to poison,
paws dance behind walls
taunting cat's tongue and
my impatient demand
'gainst thy nightly
gnaw gnaw
gnawing

Now brace for leaves.
Tossed from back porch to woods
Thy ballet's done, bitter fey.
Sun's up, swan song,

The cat play thee for a meal!
Wheel the poison again!
Swell fellow's passed on!
Reel, poison, reel!
 
Warren Falcon
   
 

   
   
 

  156.     

Memory Torques - Opening City

memory

torques

into soft

teas


June

steeps

turns

steaming

said window

(and torsos)

said prints

views obscured

of nothing

in particular

or special,

but

troubles,

troubles only

of passing birds

enamored-of

(their lighter
bones)


or


are they

cloud and shadow,

merely the steep

sun declining ashen

into the Jersey side?
 
Warren Falcon
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon