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Harvest Home Poetry by Michael Parker Smith page 2 The Nature Of Light I became obsessed one day with the idea of performing surgery On lightbulbs. I wanted to see if if the true nature of light would somehow be revealed If I could carefully dissect its inner structure So I busied myself with dental picks And tiny scalpels I even came up with a strategy to anaesthesize the lightbulb Pain, I was certain, would make the light grow dim But when I ready to wield the knife The power went out And tornadoes leveled the village And as the rain fell Each drop like a homonym I counted the wonders of the nature of light And I wanted to burn my house in an all-encompassing fire I lit a match Then a candle And as that warm glow made monsters dance I wielded the knife And without anaesthesia The lightbulb revealed The true nature of light ---Michael Parker Smith 1996 Milwaukee WI Like Little Stars Burned By The Sun I want to be a mystic kingfisher Or, a spectral legend of poetic grace Tumbling down the mountain side like Samuel Johnson with a cognac in one hand And rainclouds in the other Laughing laughing 'til the gargoyles Gush as fountains delight as sparkled Marbles and anemones glow as the brightness Of your eyes remember And there as you sit as still as grace And the streets of apocolypse rush by you As canyons make their interminable progress downward There, in your grace you plunge between one word And then another until each word becomes a bubble You watch your thoughts rise up so pure and clear To float like little lovers on some semiotic thermal Ah! What magic courage they seem to have Rising until like little stars they are burned by the sun As memories often do Yes I want to be a kingfisher Mystic or otherwise Or maybe a fountain's gargoyle A rush of rain on a dry Monday Or a thought As bubble do or will But I'll settle too For a great blue heron Leaping gracefully Into that mist above the morning river As long as you are watching, of course So some dry day you might remember And I can be that brightness In your eyes, that sparkle ---Michael Parker Smith 2/2/96 Milwaukee WI Ai No Osoreru "Look," he said. "When it rains, when it snows, I hear music." And the train swerved into the tunnel Lurching and howling like a whirlwind "I don't what else you can imagine it to be." Steel and ice and sparks And the clanging of bells at crossings And a monster rumbling through little towns Screaming its mighty horn He clutched at my heavy coat "You'll help me off when we get to the river?" I knodded. I didn't want to speak. Flanges squeeling, couplers grinding Clouds of snow and spray wheezing up around us But never quite touching All this, I thought, for the love of the game. All this in loving memory of a voice I've never heard. The snow came hard and mean after that Sizzling as it hit the heaters with a ghostly howl The green signal up ahead meant something But there was nothing to do but lie down and wait like an animal I remembered how I helped him down from our huddling place As the grain train whent clanking clanking clanking over the Mississippi River And up to Minneapolis and on to Saskatchewan I remembered how he led me with the strange agility of the blind To an abandoned signal shack Where he stopped and pointed to the river "Listen," he'd said. "Did you hear that? Listen, there's a crazy fisherman out there." To see a little light bobbing out there in the snowy river And to think of it asw a fiery snowflake With the glow of La Crosse in the background It was an amazing and beautiful thing "He must be crazier than Jesus, don't you think?" I knodded. But once again he seemed to know I knodded. "Here," he said and handed me the claret And we drank it down And when we felt warm and the wine was gone He slept And I got up and left Walking slowly north along the tracks As the snow came hard and mean Sizzling as it hit the heaters with a ghostly howl As the voice I always wanted to hear Haunted and hunted my heart The green signal up ahead meant something For once glimpse of her heart I would do all this again, and more! I would lie down upon this snow And let these rails carry me Or the next train to bury me In the imagination of her soft and thrilling arms But I was in luck The westbound freight was slowing to take the passing siding So I had a ride once more I found a likely car and hopped aboard And as soon as the Amtrak raced by We were rumbling along the steel dance floor To a hissing, clanging, wheezing choreography Flanges squeeling like new dress shoes And couplers locks in love's embrace And my eyes frozen shut with tears "Look boy," I said, "when it snows like this I hear her voice. It's like an angel singing when the flakes hit the ground. It's like butter and cigars and claret It's as if I'm still in the sanctuary of her heart Kissing her tender lips And dancing with her warmth in the stillness of eternity...." "All this, boy," I said, as the snow came hard and mean, "All this, boy," I said, "in loving memory of a voice." ---Michael Parker Smith 11/6/95 Shorewood WI Racing The Shadows To Aztalan The pieces glittered like little diamonds As my fingers drew near to them And I laughed as the light became like brandy Because The puzzle seemed to fit together As it always did There, once more The very same picture With the very same pieces missing It was all as soft and warm as Mozart Dancing dance dancing dansant sur la luminaire..... Or like the windows rattling As if the wind were very lonesome and very scared "Ha! It's funny almost...." There were shadows everywhere And the shadows were like little friends A whole parade of them marching along the walls "It's funny almost....almost....as if I could shine a light on one and make it go away...." But ah.....that little puzzle Diamonds sparkling As if to say that death is just a lie And in the end she never dies She's just left incomplete With diamonds and shadows missing And I figured it was worthless and stupid to pray For all that It would still come out the same So this time I took some plaster And very patiently filled the emptyness with white Soon she stood before me once again Almost as mysterious as Mayan pottery Almost as rescued and almost as revealing Of course, there were a lot of pieces missing But that's the way it is you see It's like a crossword puzzle that you never finish Because you can't quite come up with the word blipio "It's just like in the museum, now All that was buried is now revealed Displayed among the artificial moonlight Mayan, and Toltec, and all that secret blood...." So in the end The death was just a moment of illusion A piece of the puzzle An exception to every rule And nothing wrong with shadows and darkness And silence And I dont hear any prayers And I better not The hands and the heart can do better things If kept busy at the potters wheel Instead of sitting there and praying It is better to embrace the darkness And by loving it so, transform it Or better still, Run!! Run with the shadows Into the morning light And up ---Michael Parker Smith 10/10/96 Elkhorn WI Run Silent I began to wonder when the words would come to me Like those birds that escape from museums The sky is laden with sculpture and some of it should fall But nothing....it was all nothing As great cigars and music are sometimes also nothing And all I could do was wait, and watch the smoke Drift with the amber crescendo of notes Surely, I thought, it must surely snow someday How can all this love and passion remain in the sky like that How can I not speak with eloquence And weep with lust and romance Why should I run silent through this wonderland When chrysanthemums and herons bloom in moonlit clouds All elegaic and graceful as the leaves so full of love and tears It was odd that all I could do was listen and watch That I couldnt help the birds escape Nor bring the snow The world was too full of pain and love To be anything more than scenery All torn down and golden Forests scattered like amber and rust Rich corn wonder ran deep But all I could do was sigh a little And reminisce The beauty of it now was good and kind Too much love and not enough pain, I thought That's what the soybeans are telling me What the cornstalks whisper as they're plowed under But all that seemed so odd to me How could I not be shouting with joy and love For all the world now is so comforting and warm Even the bitter wind and the grey amnesia sky All the wild days explode In silent tremelo There is never enough pain Only enough silence and Too much thought Somewhere tonight there are words for this They are flying above the clouds Upon some moonlit kingdom I wonder what they are and what they are saying And where they go when they arrive Silent and alone And perch upon your heart Flap their wings once And fall asleep All they do is bring dreams of love More than any heart can contain They bring memory and desire Pain and its brilliance But all is silent as the sun awaits the eloquence of a harvest moon And the moon sits like a startled rabbit Harkened by that long forever Just before the dawn It's an impasse Desire caught in it's own brilliant web Until this very moment ---Michael Parker Smith 11/7/97 Elkhorn WI Back to Page 1 Home The Literary Life Blog Me Jake |