a Friday the 13th special:
3 poems for July 13
we're swallowed, when a wave has such force;
over the lights other lights are a swollen electric talk;
leaving emits beginning, like a newer tear; &
even then ants eat time;
serious bizness is left inside the music;
ordinance unexploded scattered on saturated ground;
you might realize, when my reflection explodes;
in the half-light the city becomes dried out,
nailed against a scrawled note;
kennels are a good place to keep silver.
At each quiet moment laughter walks
(Wole Soyinka was born on July 13, 1934)
country side swiped
Just the opinion of unbolted air,
open field composition, at a bound meadow.
Having's not holding but an open hand, or, a
nest where mice emerge focused.
Clarity in the air's ordinary or impersonated.
Leaving where I am is a scene for
almost becoming or unbecoming, flower: weed.
Raining all thru sunshine, we'd
even start to move into a flowing water.
(John Clare was born on July 13, 1793)
really with all those children the whistle unfathomable
in moonlight set under silenced music: a
creed buried in microscopic bits;
hammered where the sky goes blank into blue;
anything is disguised, to a policeman,
really a need surfaces, for echo, untold; a
dreamed-forward scrunch of words
cases are known, eggshell moment;
ahead (new) cracked world, wasted cold water;
droll but held to firelight;
dark means a word lights up;
enfants terribles at the doorstep; got a count?
lost language bent (into the middle of finding;
(Richard Caddel was born on July 13, 1949)