CHANCELLOR OF SHADOWS
Horses are praying the old-fashioned way, trotting
a fenced field at twilight under a towel of moon.
Swans settle on the pond, like five-paragraph essays
on beauty. Yes, we all have our rituals, like the skunk
stitching one pulsing patch of shadow to the next
with the swish of its tail. Not to mention questions.
How many broken pies at the bakery dream
the forgiveness of hungry mouths? How many
weeks till the silverfish tunnels through Chaucer?
What if the other life is buried inside this one?
A stack of bricks, a work shirt billowing on the line:
epics in the making. Each set of doubts, a garden.
Like the owl, I want to be paid in mice and falling
stars, take my midnights in the middle of the day.
For more of Utah-based Lance Larsen's poems, click here
There is no editor over on the TP hub this week.
No editor on the TP hub this week? Why?
Well, it's our 3rd birthday and we're in creative, celebratory mode!
18 of our 30-strong group of international poets (we hale/hail from at least four continents) will be posting a line or a stanza each day for the coming three weeks. We've decided not to go with any specific theme and instead to play poetry like jazz, improvising with language and rhythm as prompted. . . fun to write and, we imagine, just as much fun to read.
Harvey Molloy tapped out the first two lines this morning; click on the quill for a look-see and then pop back to the Tuesday Poem site every couple of days to watch things take shape.
The completed poem will be posted on Tuesday 24 April.
* Riroriro, Korimako, fly me a line? Pastel on Paper - CB