A Poet Reading

I

She is the sunlight, standing by the pool,
In a garden we laced with flowers
And songs, as we walked into ourselves.

Enshrined within a tactile moment,
With no beginning, with no end,
Her brow, lifted gently by rising lotuses,
Receives the sky's deep reverence
As her eyes watch seven golden koi
Swim serenely into provinces of silence.

Then, on the left side, where the heart
Resides, her hand lifts, reluctantly,
As if compelled by lingering strands
Of bitter, ancient winds, now sadly
Come together, taking her
In ways that only harsh things can.

There is always darkness to elide,
Some purging of black light,
After which she is again

Sunlight waiting to be poems.

– Edwin Thumboo
 

Borrowed Words

Poem by Frank O’Hara (1926-66)


Light clarity avocado salad in the morning
after all the terrible things I do how amazing it is
to find forgiveness and love, not even forgiveness
since what is done is done and forgiveness isn’t love

and love is love nothing can ever go wrong
though things can get irritating boring and dispensable
(in the imagination) but not really for love
though a block away you feel distant the mere presence
changes everything like a chemical dropped on a paper
and all thoughts disappear in a strange quiet excitement
I am sure of nothing but this, intensified by breathing

From Frank O’Hara: Selected Poems (Carcanet Press)

*Much of Frank O'Hara's poetry was based on his life in New York