Category Archives: Poems

Spestas

A girl sits on a balcony; above her head,
Which, tilted, loosens a flood of hair,
Which she, conscious, has spilled unconsciously
From out of her mother’s grave, a small bird sits,
And closing its eyes from heat or ecstasy,
Literally climbs to heaven on her own voice.

Down below, flowerpots line the balcony
And wait to be wet so they can be dry again;
Lower down, gods walk in the streets,
Appear, are lost, and attract the attention
Of the girl, who is quite unconscious of the bird,
Having fed it, and besides, is Greek, and young, and fond of men.

This is how I remember it—with the sun not dancing,
Not playing hide-and-seek with the clouds, but pouring
Its light out down into the souls of men,
Which rose, and looked at one another, and said
“This is good; let there be light.” Which brings us round
To theology again, with the bird singing its eyes out
Over the girl sitting on the balcony above
The cool interior courtyard, and below, the men.

1960

Spicery

A mind’s-length plot with thought was sown
in secrecy, but it has grown
Into—

Exotic spices, with strange faces
From having looked on distant places.
Gum Arabic, from the veins
Of noonday genii in heat-drunk lands
Or the hard-to-come-by foot
Of white-centred anise-root.
Baskets crammed with saffron wands—
Nutmegs jostle, hearty oaves,
Embarrassing the comely cloves—
From far lands they bear away
Coriander, caraway.

Names whose iteration bear
Parceled gusts of foreign air
Subtleties but half revealed
To the importuning field—
As within a woman’s mind
Broods one half of humankind.

Summer Into Fall

High
In a blue glaze, a raptor wheels
Unresolved to kind, the breed gropes
On nut-stained pinions
A soundless sight
While the eye
Burns icy pride—
And earth smolders.

High
Noon! Shrill, shrill, impossible,
A cedarn copse has found
A sybil—‘til the miscreant jay,
Descendant of a winter sprite, outraged,
Vaults off, a querulous flash
Of frosty protest. The stifled silence
Pierced for a moment, swallows a soundless sigh. On the thin, blue
Back of the sky, fleecy feather-fingers float.

High
Tide! Taught, caught in the moment
A hover fly-crystalline lance, strained to a bell on net-vein
Sinews, — quivering glass—shelled memory
Of a softdown wind and a summer’s day—
The brown-eyed wonder and the fragrant stalk.
Indeed, it was just a scented wind ago
(But another day, another year)
When a young boy snatched at a hover fly, and clutched
In rumpled hands, the empty air.

Nothing changes—ever.
The insect drones a lazy paean to the sun
In the molten noon, and there is not winter.
But the brook is ice and the leaf is mould
Till the grass is sweet again. How to measure time—
Earth reborn, and flesh a year dissolved.
Again full cycle, and the fly is gauze on the garden walk—
And childhood’s done, with memories.

Summertime

A bowstring taut with afternoon
The cricket cello deep within the walk
Where russet refuse frosts before the musing moon
Where waving weed surrenders shrill the strident stalk
And rustling weed reverberates with locust-talk

Goldenrod is squired in beggar’s splendor
And races through the tree-holes in a tippling rime
Heavy is the hickory and easy is provender
And gentian’s pensive cups resound with rhyme
When, in their depths, they snare the cricket’s chime.

The Freedom Train

Here comes The Freedom Train
Red, white, and blue,
Meaning freedom
For me and you.

Here comes The Freedom Train
Let’s give a rising cheer,
That we may still have freedom
With every coming year.

Lands will come and lands will go
But let this be understoon,
We will always cherish freedom words
Most cherished, “Brotherhood.”

— Roger Fogelman — 5th grade

The Ruby Throated Humming Bird

The hummers nest is hidden so.
That only the parents know
How baby hummers grow and
Just where a Fairy would sew.

—Roger Fogelman-3rd grade???

Triantophyllo

 

The explosion of roses continues through the centuries,
Bears witness
To the incomprehensibility of beauty,
And all the roses that ever were
Are one gigantic rose, the bloom of time
And times yet to be.

And what the Greeks call the thirty leafer
Puts forth a faith in testimonial to itself,
But if beauty is its own excuse for being,
I would not wish to be there
When the Gardener comes,
To water, mulch or cut a few
To decorate the rooms of Eternity.July 31, 2009

Untitled (“A mind’s-length plot…”)

Untitled

(A mind’s-length plot…)

A mind’s-length plot with thought was sown
In secrecy, but it has grown
Into–

Exotic spices, with strange faces
From having looked on distant places.
Gum Arabic, from the veins
Of noonday genii in heat-drunk lands
Or the hard-to-come-by foot
Of white centred anise-root.
Baskets crammed with saffron wands–
Nutmegs jostle, hearty oaves,
Embarrassing the comely cloves–
From far lands they bear away
Coriander, caraway.

Names whose iteration bear
Parceled gusts of foreign air
Subtleties but half revealed
To the importuning field–
As within a woman’s mind
Broods one half humankind.

Untitled (“Bending between the branches…”)

Untitled

(“Bending between the branches…”)

Bending between the branches
I raised a dragonfly
All in a wood of pine it was
That saw a sobbing sky
As I was turning by.

As soon as my feet had found my path
It rose with the startled wind
But then clasped fast
In the aftermath
And for traveling had no mind.

A crowd of leaves was a clattering band
Like chariots through a town
When the roads are rising throughout the land
And the eyes of the watchers understand
That they are now alone.

He might have flown, but he did not move
And I plucked him from his place
Deep were his eye, with red leaves strewn
Around their edges, and Summer gone
Gleamed on his carapace.

Untitled (“How long does a road meander down…”)

Untitled

(“How long does a road meander down…”)

How long does a road meander down
Through stark monotony
Of varied, varied greenery
Till, tiring of the scenery
Finds a town.

And Time attenuate a life
Launched as an owl in flight
Upon a black and star-burnt night
Till, tiring in the dark delight
Finds a wife.