There seems to be a certain point
where a great deal of intelligence
becomes a stallion too strong,
or wild to train, to ride.
Madmen have become so smart
that their brains have snapped:
the reins have cracked,
and they cannot let go, or get off.
Simple people are said to be happy —
their mounts aren’t unruly
and serve them well.
Those with the powerful steeds
that are still under control
are successful and productive:
the plows they pull are deep,
the furrows they plant are wide.
Yet as we pity the farmer
with a lame or weak horse,
pity the land-worker with
an unbroken or wild beast.
For we admire the size
and the strong shiny flanks
from over the split-rail fence,
yet the owner’s field is criss-crossed
with uneven and crooked berms,
or stand fertile and untilled
next to the brown-eyes
and restless
horse.
Posts Tagged ‘Brown’
as the heart withers
like a cut rose,
days old,
the adult in me grows stronger,
builds the muscles I wear like a bear hide,
wears the callouses on my dirty-nailed hands.
so stands the brown and broken-necked sunflowers,
seeds pecked out like eyes
by the crows of these grey skies,
so stand I, roots screwed in place,
back bent like a bow,
my head hurting from the effort to look up.
Poem in Periwinkle Crayon
Posted: February 28, 1993 in PoetryTags: Book, Brown, Crayon, Gold, Green, Purple
you are my crayon
I always must
sharpen with you.
you make me feel
never mind what,
but I like you 4 your
specific shades –
don’t change your colors
for what you think I want.
let my skies B
brown, my
eyes gold and green,
your skin B purple.
my coloring book
doesn’t always agree
with yours – but then
again, does yours always
agree with mine?
Another Poem that is Untitled
Posted: January 24, 1993 in PoetryTags: Bear, Blue, Brown, Cloud, Dream, Earth, Fly, Red, Untitled, Water, Wind
I know that something’s changed,
my bear’s stomach smells like you again
but I’ll yell to myself.
you come walking through my daydreams
as if you were some travelling Indian
who I must chase off my land.
my hair’s getting long and in my face;
both yours and mine, they’re red and brown
like all of this waterstained earth I see.
over this I fly, sortof falling from the sky
all around you, a shattered pane of glass
melting to dew on the tips of the new grass.
I go with no control like a paper in the winds,
scudding, a cloud, a castle;
help me find my center in all the blue.
