Amir, Prince Of Treetops, Now Sleeps In His Bright Yellow Room
perhaps you are
a bee sleeping in
the heart of a flower
the stone of your
head softening
sweetly upon a pillow
your little hands
opening into bestowal
while you sleep
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poem by Warren Falcon
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Harlem Palimpsest - What Is Seen And Overheard At Six A.M., West 142nd Street, August 1984
.
for Wonsook Kim
Palimpsest =
1: writing material (as a parchment or tablet) used one or more times after earlier writing has been erased
2: something having usually diverse layers or aspects apparent beneath the surface
Latin palimpsestus, from Greek palimpsē stos scraped again,
from palin + psē n to rub, scrape; akin to Sanskrit psā ti, babhasti
he chews
'Oye! Garcia Lorca who chews still
Harlem's the better for your shade
once and still there'
Old women
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poem by Warren Falcon
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Of Bells Anatomy There Is Much
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
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poem by Warren Falcon
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Uses For Wings - Variations From 'We Can Be Broken' & Other Discarded Poems
.
'It means so much that we can be broken.' - from an early poem,1978
For Tien Ho, departed,
and Michael R.
carving the empty space
of her leaving still
*
Here is a Presence beyond
illicit fires bearing witness
to evidence, remains of flight,
contrived escapes blocked by panes,
walls striped in ramming panic,
of ritual and a broken neck,
petrified wings placed in open
spaces they once could range.
*
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poem by Warren Falcon
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This Space Between the Gate, the Garden Lovely - Eternal Rounds of Determined Variations
.
...variations determined of rounds eternal -
lovely garden the gate
the between space
this...
All
this space between the gate and the garden lovely
within the hole of the ring in the breath flung in
the dirt's cool dank breath
the hand of the digger becomes the tree
shall hang
language surpasses itself breaks
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poem by Warren Falcon
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Nightingale Confesses Into Straighter Teeth For the Seven Falling Ones
'...descend and of the curveship lend a myth to God.' - Hart Crane
The boys, seven falling: Jamey Rodemayer, Tyler Clementi,
Raymond Chase, Asher Brown, Billy Lucas, Seth Walsh, Justin Aaberg
Even the pigeons on my stoop are silent now.
One mourning dove coos tenderly for these who
have taken their own lives publicly on our behalf,
for those many gone before them, broken hearts
enraged, no more to engage the unpersuaded
world which, one of them, one of the public ones,
in spite of murmuring wharves, in spite of amorous
dark alleys bitter in the pitch of the last hateful
American Century, Hart Crane, wrote before his leap
from the ship beside the phallic curve where Cuba
meets the lisping sea, took his tongue away which
sang of chill dawns breaking upon bridges whose
spans still freely splinter light returning hungover
from the night wharves, grottoes, and denim World
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poem by Warren Falcon
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Photos of War
Photo of War - 1
no milk for her
child the nipple
droops a sad
thing while dogs
run wildly about
Photo of War - 2
Geese tell of return
the burning village
counts its embers
measured in hands
Photo of War - 3
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poem by Warren Falcon
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Dear Low' - Upon His Leaving Mountains For Manhattan, circa 1981
For Lowery McClendon
You did it. You left the trout behind.
Sunday the corn was cut down. Apple trees
in the nearby orchard were felled which explains
the screams I heard a week ago, and the droning'
of wasps. That hill was exposed this evening at
sunset, reflected pink in the sky. Reminds me of
the women I always saw through your eyes,
their large lips and eyes, the dark thighs particularly,
fields without their corn now shedding a purple
light like Stevens' Hartford, and you there tonight
forsaking the school yard we'd walk beside
stopping to comment on that view of hills
at our favorite wall where 'Nigger's Pandemonium'
stalled on hot nights to break beer bottles for your
poems broken glass, curtains you'd pass in the
dark where your wheels would splay the stars stuck
to tar bubbles on the street when Hart Crane beat
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poem by Warren Falcon
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The Empress of Contrails Writes Upon Darkness - Anxiety of Influence - Original Version
.
for Anthros Del Mar
I, on the other hand,
have lain down with
countless thousands.
My tent is worn out.
Stains mark love-cries,
some blood where tongues
were ground down to root words,
utterance hard pounded,
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poem by Warren Falcon
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The Nyro Poems - Majestic
for His Winking Majesty
1
'Tornado spawn, ' he said,
gesturing to ourselves and
laughing, 'chapter and verse,
'The storm darkens us around.'
We took cover from God under a
broad-leaf, low-lying rhododendron,
hunched over a hand-rolled cigarette
thumbs could touch but not each
other. Shivering every toke all
reaches curtailed beneath chaste hail.
In mud gulch, percussive rain on
sheltering leaves, we sang Nyro
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poem by Warren Falcon
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