Fabulous Finds - 2001




Duane Locke

Night  

Night enters
The ears; 
The brain
Dives like
A nighthawk 
To touch
The bare shoulders 
Of a
Disappearing
Star.


Copyright © 2001 Duane Locke

 



Jesse Auchter

Heroin


The eyes on the back of your head
couldn't have possibly prepared you
for the departure
curtains-closed
fate
that smacked you silly
ignorance is bliss they say
but that bliss
ignorantly blinded you
to what they say
counterpoint is knowledge
is power
the needle dangling from your arm
smoke curling in the air
from a final smoke
your body in silent stance
eyes skyward


Copyright © 2001 Jesse Auchter

 




Janet I. Buck

The Weed Patch


Clouds hover in gray peace. 
We hurry a bit to stay 
a tiny stride ahead of storm. 
You lower me to waiting earth, 
arrange my tools on piles of rocks, 
and digging's ceremony starts. 
These circuses, complaining bones, 
shrieking like a wounded dog 
you'll pet when night descends again. 
You know my core, respect its meat, 
fastidious in argument 
with poor, poor draws of body cards. 
A treasure chest that begs 
to be an open trunk 
even when it's tough to lift. 
You leave me chopping at the roots, 
afraid a thorn will pierce a glove, 
uneven earth will press a nerve. 
Tomorrow's pain, 
a pay day on the calendar. 

You know my core, fastidious 
in argument for motion's blessing 
even in its oxen rites, its habit 
dragging, dropping grace, 
stooping, stretching muscled fire. 
I turn around and see your eyes-- 
daisy wheels that never 
lose their ivory slats. 
Puffs release their tiny bullets 
drumming on our sweaty skin. 
You stand me up and brush me off. 
Dirt in clumps like chocolate chips 
in cookie dough the sun will bake 
when Summer's here. 
Weeds are things we pull together 
even when the rain begins. 
Health is such a short parade. 
Its blush a tulip in my hand. 


Copyright © 2001 Janet I. Buck

The Poetry of Janet I. Buck

 


Richard Denner

Along the Cutbank


I see your visage in the rock
where you spied some birds
to add to your Life List
and then spent an hour
trying to identify the common jay.

I shut up and squatted and picked my nose.

I roll a rock into the river.
A new moon shines on all that has vanished.
Itís all here
including the hole in my shadow.


Copyright © 2001 Richard Denner

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A Little Poetry