Monday, February 01, 2010

The Dance

It's cabernet o'clock in Arlington.
Outside, a winter day draws to an end.
An icy glare of white and blinding sun

Brightens the west and sinks below the bend
Of the tree-lined horizon. Warmth and cheer
Inside these walls, with Solitude (dear friend!)

And cordial flames of an imagined fire.
Flashes and flickers blaze inside the hearth
Made of the mind's untamable desire

For beauty, peace -- for what? heaven on earth?
Outside, it darkens. Wine gives breath and bloom
To drowsy Muses, coaxes them to mirth

And banishes solemnity and gloom:
See, how they dance inside this little room!

Sunday, January 31, 2010

Draft of a sonnet


It's nineteen eighty-five. You're at the beach.
December. Age sixteen. Reading Hart Crane.
The peak of Mt Parnassus within reach!
Sounds of the cold gray ocean flood your brain.

A day for poetry and truancy.
The fierce Atlantic wind batters Revere.
Miss Plath wrote of "the sluttish, rutted sea"
Remembering Winthrop. (Not too far from here.)

Jump on the train and head for Harvard Square.
Browse the bookstores for anthologies
From thirty years ago.

The Welshman's dithyrambic rhapsodies.
Those lines that make you drunk with vertigo!
Your "muse of fire." Approach her, if you dare!