Saturday, March 26, 2011

A Samuel Amadon Poem

 Without Discussion

What people said, what left the table dark.
None stayed inside the house, nor close around.
Each direction its direction bound.
Like when you leave the arcing thing to arc.
Like papers gather papers in the park.
We note the wind is what can't hold the ground.
While hearing transfer stations fill with sound.
And let the city alter a remark
a little further from explaining what
was meant. A creak again or just a creak
right then. Like leaning forward on the cart.
A structure falls to stay its every strut.
I'd like to speak. I said I'd like to speak.
And someone sighs, they broke the silent part.


Thursday, March 17, 2011

POEM: "How You Make Love To Me"

How You Make Love To Me

Your beauty is but a mask
A tired dress upon the floor

dogs mount each other
with more urgent honesty
with fewer lies of passion

you pant before coming
your screaming orgasm

a windmill open to the winds
one higher tolerance for the pain
of the unwoken less fortunate

red arrows like snakes shooting
out of your dark closing eyes.

© 2011 Rob Schackne