poems and poems-in-progress

Friday, October 5, 2012

from "Glamourous Life"

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Two Franks



Fedora on a tilt

Trench coat in the rain
belt of rope

Francis Albert

Rat Pack,

Rapt bobbysoxers
Forest dwellers converted

Old Blue Eyes,
Old brown cowl

My Way
The Way.


The Mob,
The Church

Friars Club
Friars Minor

Voice like an angel
true saint.

Rags to riches
Riches to rags



A version of this poem appeared in Hanging Loose 78

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Canticle of the Sun

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adaptation Francis of Assisi

O Creator of everything, I honor You 
from whom all blessings come, Yours alone,
is a name worthy to intone.
Let me praise you by praising 
the created world: Brother Son
who warms by the fire of Your love's light, the sun.

How radiant the splendor 
and semblance of you, Creator, Your sun is, 
ultimate portal of your bright searing truth.

Let me praise You for Sister Moon and her stars
gleaming with clarity in Your heavens as far
as the eye can see, raving precious. 
And let us praise the Brother Wind Your nebulous,
serene conductor, various and ominous,
through which Your creation delivers sustenance.

Let me praise You for Sister Water,
multifarious and useful, humble, O Creator,
cooling, rough and pure.

And for the Brother that Fire is, who illumines
night. Robust and fierce is he who opens
our darkness with a blaze, let us praise him.

Let's praise Sister Mother Earth
who sustains and governs us. She gives birth
to diverse fruits and the several colors of blossoms and herbs.

Let us praise You for the gift of all who pardon
who remain steadfast through tribulation and illness,
who suffer in peace will be crowned in love.

And let us praise for even our Sister who is the body’s
death, death which no one who lives ever 
escapes.  Sorry it is to die beneath the weight of deep sin! 

Blessed are those she finds enrapt with holy desire
to respond to your volition.
The second death will do them no harm.

Let us praise you and serve you
Let us lavish You with gratitude, and wealth 
of spirit grateful for all we we are given.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Caught Red Handed in their Own Ink

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A pair
of poets

their 2

atop bales
of rotting

rubbish on
Canal Street
across from

Sea Wing

This poem appeared in in Mudfish 8.