One man walked through a cracked, dry land
dowsing for the cairn of a woman.
his spirits circled him like many wrestlers,
fanning the wind into slight eddies,
stirring the dust raised by each cautious footstep.
one man seen alone with a forked stick
walking away from a dirt-streaked car,
a door hanging open like a promise to return
to the thin blacktop stretching to the clouds
massed like an audience in the west.
his footfalls were distant thunder provoking blue-grey lizards
to quick movements; they reminded him of her bracelets.
the parched earth rose to cling to his jeans.
black spots in the sky materialized into vultures,
cocking steely eyes past hooked beaks;
he could not meet their gaze.
he gripped his stick like a motorcycle’s handlebars
and drove through the desert searching, searching
Posts Tagged ‘Lizard’
Dowsing
Posted: May 13, 1993 in PoetryTags: Blue, Clouds, Earth, Grey, Lizard, Sky, Spirit, Thunder, Wind, Woman
$6.95
Posted: April 13, 1993 in PoetryTags: Charles Bukowski, Daughter, Dragon, Eye, Lizard, Mind, Vodka, Wood
In the back of my mind, you see,
I filed away that Gordon’s Vodka
was on sale – when the excuse came,
I bought it in a glorious name:
I signed my check Charles Bukowski.
the waves keep on singing
thrashing my shores with scourges of driftwood:
I pour the alcohol in nonstop
from a weatherbeaten clifftop.
a lizard glitters under a broad ivy leaf,
sapphires for eyes and mottled scales,
daughter of the dragons we murdered in Wales
with rationality as comfortable as grinding my teeth.
the waves sing because they are free
blissfully ignorant of the landlocked me.
I killed a foot-long lizard today,
I am really, really sorry to say,
accidentally; my sad excuse
was hatcheting unwanted ivy and
with a careless swing of my hasty hand
I clipped him roughly in the head
which, almost dead, made him just more refuse.
some excuse.
he twitched and I, in shocked surprise
moved the leaves to watch him die,
and knowing what I had to do
I swung again; I cut him in two.
looking at the pieces in my hands,
his beautiful head still blinked its eyes;
I still can’t quite understand,
but something in me almost cried:
I know that he forgave me.
The Most Beautiful Man in Town
Posted: July 24, 1992 in PoetryTags: Clouds, Crucifix, Dragonfly, Frog, Lizard, Man, Mother, Tadpoles, Wine
I am the most beautiful man
on this road,
my bottle of red wine
wetting my lips
through the lizard-trod dust.
My spit places octopi
in the tiny gravel
splayed like fingers
or clouds.
Sometimes I weave back
and forth between the ruts
in the road,
carrying my bottle of red wine
before me like a crucifix,
amazed at the hundreds of lizards.
La Cascada sings to me
with the beauty of
a lost flute,
with the conversation
of it’s motherly water falling;
with its brood of half-made tadpoles.
I bless her with a mouthful
of my crimson wine,
baptizing each new frog,
each new dragonfly
wriggling in half-formed majesty.
I am the most beautiful man
on this road,
waking to wine and muscle,
surprised from the deadening
of young-adulthood.
I am the most beautiful King of Fate,
the Prince of La Cascada,
the Champion of Frogs and
the fool of red wine.
Froggacuda's Weblog 