Monthly Archives: November 2011

Again

They have taken down the stars and the gibbous moon
to tack up these pasteboard skies.
Remodeling, I suppose, this Nature
which, despite your having gone, still retains some charm.
But one must have the proper mood,
or so they say.  And see.  They have attained their goal:
Once more I write a poem that thinks, again, of you.

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(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Night

The beauty of night have I seen
naked as desire, hot as my mouth
that speaks the name of night.
The wind cuts my flesh as do your bold kisses,
the stars savage my glum soul
as does the working of your thighs.
Oh dearest lovely one, for me
the words become you, dreaming in my dream!

*     *    *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Reverie

I the nets of my senses cast
to catch the beauty of this world.
I found you stirring, naked, sleek as a shark.
The nets of my senses you tore apart
along with this, my ageing heart.
Like sunset’s blood upon the tide
my thoughts stain these days with sorrow.
But, despite the pain, still I wait to cast
my mended nets upon the morrow’s flood.

*      *     *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Amour contrarié

Woman!  In this wind-racked place, I think of you
while leaves allied with freezing rain attack.
Builder of words, master of dreams am I,
my body as desperate for your arms
as waves are for the shore,
on which to crash with roaring sighs,
a myriad of salty opalescent gems.
Oh, lovely one!  Alas, I see:
For all my candor, for all my art,
poor fool, I cannot be the consort
in that stormy kingdom of your heart!

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(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Brambles

A river of dreams, a pillar of salt
this, our dear world, of joy, of fault.

Perhaps Lot’s wife was not punished but spared
from knowing her daughters’ pathetic sin.
Then again: if she’d lived, her girls
would never have lain with their sire.

This world: of purpose, or chance?

And I? am the ram caught in the brambles
that Abraham sees, then lowers his knife.
Isaac is spared because of me,
and from his madness the old man is freed.

This world: of voices, of shadows, of light
and things that go bump in the night.

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(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Legend for our time (Veterans’ Day 2011)

There once was a prince
whom a sorceress turned into a frog.
Yet so soon as the witch obliged her whim,
into a wasp she changed (from guilt, say some;
by accident, the rest.)
She was swallowed by the frog.

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(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Saturday, early: on the boat with Lan

looking toward the left
at the Statue of Liberty
in the clear distance
framed in the boat’s unwashed window…

an Asian woman alone,
several Black couples,
a Latina and her children,
a blond Northern European couple –

all sitting there
talking or reading or viewing
the Statue across the water
silently…

That line from The Tempest
filled my heart and mind:
Oh brave new world
that has such people in it!

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(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011