Monthly Archives: June 2011

Immortal Rose

From the night stand, the rose,
encased immortally in glass,
raises its silent plea, its shout
for rescue, for release
from the frozen caress of forever.

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

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Goodbye gone boomerang

I’d said goodbye, and was walking.
I looked about and was alone,
yet not for lack of someone’s being there.
For they were a sea of flesh
filling the eye with joy –
but nonetheless, for me, not there.
And so I return, a goodbye-gone-boomerang,
a farewell that missed its mark.
So catch me in your arms
and tell me, yes, I am of some account,
that I’m a genius of the artful phrase –
or, at the least, a charmer
whose foibles are permitted
despite the bother;
a friend, a myth, a pleasant lie
that fills an hour against the dark,
the burning emptiness of now.
Or perhaps a smiling silence
that hangs above the stars,
a splotch upon some photographic plate
of that nebula, far away,
a mark that laughs at precision,
scorns exactitude.  Oh, hold me in your arms
and tell me, yes, I am of some account
even as the stars move on, disdainfully,
through eternities of dark indifference.

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll   2011

time and words and rain…

time and words and rain pass and whirl and rage
while my longing for you dances in my breast
like some dervish mad with devotion
filled with the power of vision
oh beauty!  would I had never seen you!
for again the wild fancy has begun
the dream of grace unending   like a kiss
my soul floats within your mercy
while time and words pass and whirl
while rain rages like a beast in the night

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Monsoon rains – a memory

Torrential sealing wax, the rain.  Silence
mushrooms in the steaming forlorn hamlets
along the mordant river Vàm Cỏ Tây.
Paws of mammoth ants decorate purple mud:
the escutcheons from Gia Long to Bảo Đại.
Brown waters bleed leeches and mosquitoes,
worms and geckos.  Armies of flies
transubstantiate drowned constrictors.
The etching of slime primal ooze
on the forest floor…  Over everything,
the patina of sealing wax – this rain,
the incessant palaver of this rain.

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Walking in Manhattan, nearing the park

Oh, sward set down in this desert’s midst,
no spires save the trees!  I fear
the towers (they’re really caves)
overshoot heaven in their lust for it.
But trees, mute beings, they’ve grasped it –
it’s compounded with their leaves.

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Thought out walking (for Lan)

This day is one of blossoms
covertly building in the ground.

Teased by sun and shade, I walk against the wind.
How much like you is a day in Spring!
Yet how much more are you than rose or sun,
maples or shadows or this breeze!

Out walking for but an hour, and
I miss you, love, my only solace being
our sharing this same earth,
this same sky, these clouds, this day, the night.

Whatever may happen to me, to you,
or between us, you shall always be
a day in Spring, a splendid rose,
a poem building in my soul.

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

Seeing you by starlight

By the light of stars, every face is dark,
every face is true as water that seeks the deep
courses of the world’s repose.
Today is tomorrow’s past.
Regrets are ripened fears.
In your eyes I see myself.
See yourself in mine!

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011