Three Poems, One for Each Eye
by Darryl Price
"It seems to be accepted nowadays more than ever that killing,individual and mass killing,is the order of the day;it is accepted."--Henry Miller
Why can't you leave well enough alone just long enough for it to make its own miraculous escape through the closed hatch on history's already overheated forehead?Loch Nessy doesn't belong to you, son of a goon. The moon isn't
yours to simply put in your pocket whenever you feel like it.Would you walk up to a perfect stranger and stick a flag in their head? Yeah you probably would. Here's a bit 'o' the English end of it for you to maybe try and understand. Things have
feelings among themselves
that have nothing to do with you at all.Why must you poke a stick through every living thing? Yeah I'm calling you out. You're a bastard through and through. That's the
only kind of well oiled poetry painting you'll ever understand in this lifetime as having any real value. A life is not to be collected and mounted for your library wall. It's already shared in the journey it takes, even
without your guidance, without your permission, without your notice.
2. all the tea in China
would probably make a pretty good
stench I'll bet, a good
thick fog, but it wouldn't
begin to cover up this
pain I have for you.
Is that too mundane a flavor to be not
stirring? Ah, no,well I don't exactly
have any more fine words to say to you on the subject either, except
I don't want to have
you, not even as a
friend, okay, I just want
you the way you are, minus me
as something I can't help
but feel there in the
world making my own life
seem to be almost bearable.
3. the field mice
are not always the most unwelcome of house guests.
Certainly the mouse mother wants
you close to her whiskers
at all times.The little
wet nest welcomes you back
and forth like a sweet
familiar hammock after it rains.
And in a much different
way so does the hawk,
so does the snake, the
cat, the owl, the smelly
fox or the not so
lost glowing little boy who's
been out in the dark
long enough to see through
the blinding shadowy gauze and
twigs still hours away from
dissolving into a new tomorrow. I'll bet
they don't think about the
danger one way or the
other. Let death live and
let death lie. What good
would it do you now any way?There are little
mouths to be fed. You'd
only continue to shrink all
your hopes and fears together
down to the size of
a crumb's crumb, or another lost world's beach front property long sitting for rent or sale.
Darryl 080310
by Darryl Price
1.I really couldn't stand it any longer. I leaned over and put my lips close against her familiar blonde cheek and whispered to her ear alone. “ Next time, ”I said,” I'm going, I'm going to touch you, then you'll see it's all true,” and she said, “touch me now, do it for me, show me, please.” So I placed my two invisible fingers on her two nipples and immediately felt the sensation of them pushing softly back beneath my skin prints like spongy sea animals.
She grabbed my crisp shirt sleeve in her hand and lowered her head against my shoulder and started to laugh, so I started laughing, too. Then just as suddenly she started crying hysterically. Then I put my invisible arms tenderly around her and held her in a gentle yet firm loving embrace that was meant to always comfort her to the very core of her being. It must have worked. She stopped crying.
But people everywhere were looking at us with disapproving stares that begged for sanctified silence.
Then she looked me directly in the swollen eyes and said, “ you, you are the one, you love me.”
The church was full of scraping chair noises.
2. He had already left us by then, to take a shower I think. We were standing at the end edge of the top of her bed in utter and happy silence. She had her arms under my arms, her hands flat upon my chest. I had my arms bracketed back, holding her by the tight blue jean hips. It was somehow comfortable and felt just right when her mom came barging in through the door carrying several new dresses on hangers. “Look,” she said, “I've managed to match these up perfectly with yours, the shoes you wanted to wear.”
3. He had managed to knock down the poster in a drunken moment. That's all I'll give him. Underneath was a quick line drawing I had done of her at her request in thick black magic marker. If he noticed the likeness at all, he didn't say. “I need it to cover up the holes in the wall, that you made,” I say. He shamefully hands me little pieces of tape from the oak dispenser on the desk until it is hung back up again.
I'm taking away so many meanings from this...it's universal yet individual. If that makes sense.
I guess I just really, really like it...
"let death die. What good
would it do? There are
mouths to be fed. You'd
only continue to shrink all
your hopes and fears together
down to the size of
a crumb or a world."
Loved that verse,esp, Darryl.
Well done! fav
Not sure what the poem means exactly or to whom it is addressed, but I find it passionate and moving and powerful. It feels honest. It is formal. It is also angry. But it is beautiful in its graceful and structured rage. It's unlike the other Darryl Price poems I've read, but it's one I like admire very much.
"The little
wet nest welcomes you back
and forth like a sweet
familiar hammock after it rains"
*
This is nice work, DP. Wonderful voice and tone througout the three sections. I really like this form. Good writing.
This has got to be one of my all-time favorite poems of yours, Darryl. I agree with Bill that the stanza about the wet nest is just extraordinary. Yes, it is angry, but loving too and so full of plaintive yearning. I like the directness in this poem. Like you, I am appalled that we stick flags on the moon (or bomb it to see if it contains water!!!!). Where do we get the nerve? Fav.
The first and second hit hard and the third had images popping like fireworks.
Those first two had a tone I often like to use in my work, that pissed off edge thing I'm drawn to. I hadn't read anything from you that employed that tone until these. You've got it down, D.
The last made me want to be twelve again and rushing home before the streetlights come on and hit the porch glowing, as you said, back to the rain wet hammock. Man, those images and phrasing and word choices made this almost like a memory from my own life instead of a poem I read. That's sort of amazing, I think.
Darryl, this is a new and powerful approach for you. Anger, pain/longing, and a sense of acceptance:
"Let death live and
let death die."
Awesome work. Fave.
Ooh I like these a lot, Darryl. And what a great title for these. Fave.
No wonder you see so much – three eyes! ;) This is some of my favorite DP writing, no question. I’m savoring this stuff.
These are wonderful - Each is a gem - so smart, with the right mix of bad-ass and tenderness.
There's a lot of anger here and a lot of nature. I'm not good at poetry but I did read this a couple times and find myself drawn in particular to the last two stanzas, and especially to the last few lines. Nice.
I like how in the first one here you demonstrate that the flip side of the I-Thou-Love-Longing poem is the Vicious-Personal-Attack poem; how they originate from the same emotional center and therefore are of the same essential value.
How in the first type, everything good is centered in the Other, and in the second ("a bone to pick"), everything bad.
Perfect intellectual balance.
So much passion here, especially that first poem. Wow. Feels like a lot of anger pent-up and exploded Pollack-like on the paper.
"A life is not to be collected and mounted for your wall. It's already shared in the journey it takes..." Oh yeah.
Lots to chew on here, and savor. Peace...
For those of you keeping up with such things, it's not anger.
It's sadness.
yup, I got that, very strongly Darryl
This is tight. You bounce images and ideas. That's exactly why I read poetry.
Thank you for this,
Sean
Thank you for that, Sean.