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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon  10/7/2015 1:31:32 AM
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Warren Falcon   Best Poems From
  WARREN FALCON (04/23/52 - xxxx)
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Perservering Of Palms

for Karthik, once again,
'The light foot hears you
and the brightness begins...' - Pindar

that salt adheres to the palm
proclaiming only this
that purchase requires both
sweat and the one hidden pearl
of scraped touch

much there is in the hand
beneath the thigh the grit
burns smooth the groove
where you lay

your wonder - that purchase
of kisses, too, with salt,
crystalline, rimed - is hard

Timed little breath-hairs,
inscaped light, red, turned
the more out in layered traces


veins strain the
more for tongues' hard press

tapered fingers flame
that these lips may chaff/
chafe more the love
from the grain which
skin frames from
cloudless scansions

Obdurate Sun,
unclothe now,
apparel dispose,
appear beyond
familiar feet,
cast off,
at last unremembered

legs arc,
sunrise splay
without restraint
tangled limbs arch,

on summit burn
where doffed shoes
obey Flame which
does not snuff nor cinder

Kindled limbs
do not go out
do not ash hot
to powder
nor the colder grow

though each is made distinct,
distinguished, though each
is extended, extinguished in
the other's contradiction
neither brother or lover

but both
be perseverance
of palms,
of salt

Warren Falcon



Photo From Lost Days At Stillborn Falls

You see them all morning while driving,
broken cars, omens, those towns you drive
through graveyards now. Your one good
tooth a headache, windshield wipers break in
the storm. Road side glass cuts your feet.
You curse your shoes in the back seat,
fumble with blades in the rain.

One good town out of six and that's the one
you leave behind where your shorts hang content
at home on the line, back yard neighbors
speculating over lingerie with black lace.
The sun can barely contain itself.
The mail man wishes he was me.

The story is Jalise - I was nearby - she dripped in
soaked from rain announcing, 'I need to get
out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini.'
For me? only a towel to dry her and nothing more.

I swear, Jalise, pornographic peekaboo, hide
and seek, I'm drunk again thinking of you,
how I cut my baby teeth on Stillborn glass,
feet bleeding on always wet roads. One mile
out of two I'm thinking of you, how you wouldn't
let me love you, just hold your hips in jeans,
'just friends'. Your black lace is still a pain.
Five men out of six would call you 'b*tch' or worse.

At the laundromat now a woman in nylons stoops.
I drive by with a wave, another town, same storm,
a study in shields and blades wondering about
nylon mysteries, hand washed, bent woman's
name turning over and over again in spin and
dry cycles of drink.
Warren Falcon



Pisciatoio De Nero In Zero World

[reveries from many years viewings of Fellini's 'Amacord' -
'Pisciatoio de Nero' means 'black pissoir' in Italian]

'Hear me a moment...
Perhaps it is better
if the jubilee of small birds
dies down, swallowed in the sky...

The senses are graced with an odor
filled with the earth.' - Eugenio Montale, 'The Lemon Trees'

the blowing spring blossoms
the falling snow
the sex-crazed madwoman
has her place and is made place for

in the seaside town - Gradicia
sacred prostitute
important to matters of State

of stuttering male
desire of all ages

at film end her
a new beginning for all

as Time too
zooms in/out
scenes throughout

spring blossoms again
return the final scene

the ubiquitous blind
accordion player
Time's other guise

pestered by brats
perpetually pull his tattered hat

plays throughout
eternal return


film family
the schizophrenic brother/
uncle of papa/nephew
climbs a tree on an
out-of-the-asylum family picnic

the day is late
family needs to leave
countryside for city

Tio, uncle, refuses to
descend from the tree top
end of the stony world

loudly shouts
hours over quiet
farmland and fields,



deeper sanity reveals
in his call for the restoring

the sanity of Desire
his coniunctio
(consummation call)
in the arms of a tree

rocks tossed
plucked from
coat pockets
keep saner
interlopers at bay below

the love-mad one
in piss pants
sways embraced of
the Woman Tree
reunites vistas
seen above
tearing opposites
of the seen world
mean in over
extended glory

the promised
black boots
of State

Unpersuaded he

in primeval arms
returns to life

wants a wife
or lover

lightens his load
throws stones from

pockets full o full
upon the glass house
the loo-loo world

spread out beneath him
a 'pisciatoio de nero'
in Zero world.


actively dreaming I am
of a cabin, some woods
(or Tio's Tree) or Mexico
mountain crotch

draw water from
artesian well deep
bathe with night stars

swelling in night-mirage

heat vectors from day
heated earth making

giddier stars dance...

my vocation then -

porch sit
pick up
paints again
seek the missing


a patch of canvas
dirt squabble
the 3-legged
dog his name
is 'Trinidad'
(his 3 legs)
whose meanness
knows an evil man
when he sees one

cogitate to more write
cook simple fare
raise some corn
a little hay the locals
that itch of skin for
skin embrace Tio's
primal call to sin over
into the blurred sanity
of digitally hog-tied
corralled world too
easily pixilating O dust
to dust

after all is said/done

Go back in time then
'io recordo amacord '
is always circular
as space is not linear
but spherical live off
grid as chimera
an old man tin-can spit-
cup in hand can without
doing harm to self chewing
a niggardly weed tobacco
growing wild in Mexico
ditch and dale

will need espresso
wine nearby (or larders
laid coolly in the ground
for chill and preserve) ,

space large enough for
books and to entertain
2-leggeds - even
Trinidad come to pant
happily at my heels -
who will come if they
come for counsel
talk story
dirty jokes

side by side silent
readings an occasional
'hear this' something
then read aloud which
becomes bread
heads nod agreement
smiles and meals beneath
the witnessed reel of
glancing stars gathering
stones at dusk filling
their pockets own
while climbing
World Tree at apogee
they downward turn
fling themselves low
toward the dawn stumbling
Sun alone fire seeking



in such male heat
Light cries up/
reveals the morning
dove the crow their
sonorous response
to the Sun's Call,
different as they are

what is revealed:

the mouse in the hole who loves the hole,
how the serpent's tail shimmers as one has
tossed it with a very long stick out the door
shouting - the door shouts too - 'be gone!
no more! ' one has learned to shake the
sheets, the pants, the socks, the topsy
turvy heel-worn shoes before the getting
into because scorpions and spiders dwell
therein and even a snake loves a warm bed,
my pillow for its head, found a skin shed
on a flower-patterned pillow case where
fleecy lambs forever pink silently low
as the cloth grows thin from head wear
dream wear because I was once a sleeping man

(this happened
to me

lived 3 great years
a mountain
one hundred year old house no electric
a well for water
spring house chill in
cold mountain spring
milk butter meat
thick mesh and laden
plywood over basin
keep critters out

on the porch at night
(so the shy mountains could
not see) from rain water
gathered rhythmically
from the tin roof tonal
glocks in pots all kinds) ...


but for now
out the theater
into city street
I've been drawn
out and now

long overdrawn

am drawn the
more in
drawn in
not sketched out
but stretched as such
state old men are or
soon to be, arrive
their ire in retire
crow songs
strong for not
too much longer

but damn it all

hear such
being here hurts,
stone stars

I'm cold! I'm cold!

I shout up to them
Sun star tumbling old
bodies down to dirt song
of the earth

'Das Lied von der Erde'

I will listen then
as I do now, Mahler's,
pour out red wine
hiss at the intrusive
mouse herald of The End
in alto sung

I will listen will
recover such enough
air around to go on
sing my song
a tio-tangle in
treelimbs the kind
Van Gogh still somewhere

knees, sore,
now and always
a call
to prayer
to woo

in old boots
worn leather
weak knees
make me to

to which I
have only just

in a dream

renewed my wedding vows.
Warren Falcon



Planet Unrequitia Poem # 1 - Prologue

Planet UnRequitia Poem # 1 - Prologue

Searching Near Mule Kick Creek For William Faulkner's Grave In Mississippi

'I believe that when the last ding-dong of doom has
clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging
tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even
then there will still be one more sound: that of man's
puny, inexhaustible, voice still talking! …not simply
because man alone among creatures has an inexhaustible
voice, but because man has a soul, a spirit capable of
compassion, sacrifice and endurance'

— William Faulkner - Nobel Prize Banquet Speech

'Given the choice between the
experience of pain and nothing,
I would choose pain.' - Faulkner

A sign unseen except on a discarded cigarette pack:

WARNING: The Surgeon General has determined
that paces, any paces, forward, aft, left, right, cannot
defeat what is hoped for in the contents of this package
which allude to

1) satiation (cessation of desire)
2) compassion (soothing of desire)
3) sacrifice ('to make desire sacred')
4) endurance (a man's hope, a woman's genius) .

Should one or none of the above result return
then to the cemetery gate. Note just beyond
the entrance is a garbage can. Ponder. Possibly
say (infinite possibility) (or think) aloud, possibly,
even, make another marker, saying:

'Death is a deed.
Death is a clean sorrow.
It is natural to weep -

Even a waste basket in a cemetery.'

What is concealed beneath matters most,
then the ongoing translation for what
continues to measure paces, what may
even be spoils of the living, either way
either or each indicates there is life after all.

Gather, shall we, by
a pacing river, beauteous,
shining in its endurance,
singing of endurance
which may arrive strangely
ding-dong, brutal,
utterly satisfied:

'A mule will labor ten years
willingly and patiently for you,
for the privilege of kicking you
once.' - Faulkner


Unrequitia is pronounced Un-re-kwy-sha as in the word 'Unrequited'
Warren Falcon
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Poems By Poet Warren Falcon