Five Poems


raining carrots
oranges geen
silver drips from the shedtops
while washington market

and the carts still grumble by
and the pavement sings
to the iron wheels

and darkness chases white
and welcomes blackest black
of pale yellow light

and workmen their wares
amid the thunderous roar
of the city blackness

the huddled blackie stands
beneath the shores of light
and warms a black right hand
and music of the drainpipe
hollars in the night

and soon the darn turns night to light
and all are filled with awe
as the city awakens
and the market dies.


I walked to the sound
and Billy hada blue boat
witha canvas cover
anda steering wheel
and we sped to the island
and builta big fire
and roasted hot
dogs til  the sunset
and paddled back when
the motor failed
and covered us with canvas

And on the dock
Aunt Pauline looked fearful
ata red moon
and black water
for a tiny blue boat
witha canvas cover
and two wee men.

We walked slow through rustled woods
just we two and we were happy
We stopped once in the leaved path
I turned over red leaves and we gathered mushrooms
A pheasant whirred over half bare trees
It refreshed us
we held hands and raced to the hickory tree
Soon our pockets buldged with nuts
We were as children
I lay down
You covered me over light in leaves
I held a rusted oak leaf to the sky
It was so clean
Cover me over again light in leaves.

green is the picnic of summerlovely
when blue boats line the stone wall
and father digs worms in the backyard
while larry and i trudge white sand
with hopes of buildinga fire roasting
hotdogs gathering driftwood to fill the
car looking for pat and betsy peeling
sunburn and all the group picking spil
led olives waiting for steve to come
and liven the show with deadness and
listen to fran complete in summerstock
theater and dave in new canaan looking
at houses by stoneandjohnson and chick
mayonaising and bob sweating muscles
and jean afraid to climb lighthouses
and sayre guzzling ina luberjack shirt
and three-in-the-morn-firesmelling-and
kissed me.

I saw beaten crowds
Wander down a gangplank
for long journies across a bay
for endless newspapers creased ona porch
and steaming pots of uncleaned  ashtrays
and i smiled because
one man stopped
to doff his hat
ata lady
gnarled in black.

4 thoughts on “Five Poems

  1. is sporting his stainless steel vampire-fang tunnels (seems appropriate given @ Literary Dark Prince’s LAIR

  2. Bobolinks blink in the chill
    and their drops catch
    on the bramble’s frozen berries.

    When they are let to macerate
    in a clutch of dead leaves
    in the thaw, their fermented
    wine is like a kiss without lips

    I stole this poem from blackboard notes
    improvised spontaneously
    by poet Philip Dow (at St. Mary’s College
    as he demonstrated some observations
    about poem-making–but he described it
    as an “exercise only,” NOT a poem,
    because it came from cleverness
    rather than the secret recess
    the Muse might, if one is lucky, visit.
    Even then, he said, a life-time’s work
    might be insufficient to redeem
    her gift from one’s own limitations.

    1. I’d be glad to know who placed “Muse” here, and how that person’s poem-making goes.

      Best, Philip Dow

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