Sunday, 21 of January of 2018

Tag » dying

Joe Lamb – Vanitas

is small potatoes
for those
water_hyacinth_2_0already dead.

Singing in the Heavenly Choir,
reincarnating as a water buffalo,
or becoming one with infinite silence
share much in common,
and all are fine by me.

Maybe I could learn to carry a tune,
develop a taste for water hyacinths,
or find a lasting cure
for my insomnia.

now that is another matter.

When the pickup flipped on its side,
and careened to the canyon’s edge,
I kept spinning the steering wheel,
even though all four tires
were off the ground.

And that time on Trampas Peak
perched on the rock ledge,
knowing they would find me
spread-eagled in the skree slope
far below,

8TsHWI couldn’t stop looking
at the ripped crotch
in my red corduroys,
and wishing
I had worn underwear.

All paths converge
and no matter which I take
I’ll find my way
to the moment after.

If my heart finds proof
that my brain is wrong,
and something exists
on the other side

then I’ll linger there awhile
to wait for you
so we can wander
from galaxy to galaxy
acting sometimes like a particle,
sometimes like a wave.

–Joe Lamb

Elizabeth Alexander – Equinox

…her awareness of history, especially African-American history, as well as her personal friendship with the Obamas, made her a natural choice as President Obama’s inaugural poet.

Alexander became only the fourth poet ever asked to read at a presidential inauguration, and her poem, “Praise Song for the Day” was heard and watched by billions worldwide. From Poetry Foundation

Now is the time of year when bees are wild
and eccentric. They fly fast and in cramped
loop-de-loops, dive-bomb clusters of conversants
in the bright, late-September out-of-doors.
I have found their dried husks in my clothes.

They are dervishes because they are dying,
one last sting, a warm place to squeeze
a drop of venom or of honey.
After the stroke we thought would be her last
my grandmother came back, reared back and slapped
a nurse across the face. Then she stood up,
walked outside, and lay down in the snow.
Two years later there is no other way
to say, we are waiting. She is silent, light
as an empty hive, and she is breathing.

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