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Jim Culleny
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Mountains Don't Have to Think About Women Mountains don't have to think about women. They stand, or squat, or stretch themselves out and if the sun walks on them and the moon, what's the difference? If the forest uses their... Continue reading
Posted 20 hours ago at 3quarksdaily
Let Us Play Let’s dig tunnels. Let’s build bridges. Let’s get close like clouds of midges. What was under Mr Brunel’s hat? His love-letters And his sandwidges. Let us cross that big divide. Let us go and coincide. And with... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at 3quarksdaily
Morning Early almost awake bedclothes settled about like clouds at the edge of summer. on the horizon my hand floats on the warm sea of your body. how did it get there? is it off on its own? or has... Continue reading
Posted 3 days ago at 3quarksdaily
Akhmatova That’s right! Now I remember. I was on the beach looking at Haystack Rock, putting my finger into the mouths of sea anemones, their tentacles sweeping over my knuckles, I was whispering the word brother to one, and the... Continue reading
Posted 4 days ago at 3quarksdaily
My Papa's Waltz The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother’s countenance Could not... Continue reading
Posted 5 days ago at 3quarksdaily
Reassurance I must love the questions themselves as Rilke said like locked rooms full of treasure to which my blind and groping key does not yet fit. and await the answers as unsealed letters mailed with dubious intent and written... Continue reading
Posted 6 days ago at 3quarksdaily
In Broken Images . He is quick, thinking in clear images; I am slow, thinking in broken images. He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images; I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images. Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;... Continue reading
Posted 7 days ago at 3quarksdaily
Unexpected Meeting We are very polite to each other, insist it's nice meeting after all these years. Our tigers drink milk. Our hawks walk on the ground. Our sharks drown in water. Our wolves yawn in front of the open... Continue reading
Posted Aug 13, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Dreamless Night I hear the mapmaker, Sigmund Freud, calling out to me in his high-pitched voice: "You have embarked on the wrong road, That is not the royal route to the unconscious I described." And I, unaccountably, keep wandering down... Continue reading
Posted Aug 12, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Nana Worries About Her Father's Happiness in the Afterlife He knew nothing about death, before he died. None of us did. Then he died, and I was left to wonder where he went. The Nauhas sent their loved ones, accompanied... Continue reading
Posted Aug 11, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Prayer I want a god as my accomplice who spends nights in houses of ill repute and gets up late on Saturdays a god who whistles through the streets and trembles before the lips of his lover a god who... Continue reading
Posted Aug 10, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Love Poem . My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases, At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring, Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen, And have no cunning with any soft thing Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting... Continue reading
Posted Aug 9, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Summer was always a liar . June At the far outpost of the Empire of Light, the bugle sounds retreat. .......... pale moon in a black sky, .......... intense, solitary. aloof. .......... moon-lovers, silver with longing, .......... stand hushed in... Continue reading
Posted Aug 6, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Personal Helicon As a child, they could not keep me from wells And old pumps with buckets and windlasses. I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss. One, in a brickyard, with... Continue reading
Posted Aug 5, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Werewolf on the Moon You want to touch big animals, animals not touched by your peers Woe is not you You have the polar bear in Franz Josef Land, the white whale in the Sea of Okhotsk, You have the... Continue reading
Posted Aug 4, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
ID Card Write it down! I’m an Arab My card number is 50000 My children number eight And after this summer, a ninth on his way. Does this make you rage? I am an Arab. With my quarry comrades I... Continue reading
Posted Aug 2, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
A Small Measure stars are born, people die more stars than people by far reborn as stars and more stars than grains of sand the number of grains of sand? (7.5 x 1018 grains of sand) seven quintillion, five hundred-... Continue reading
Posted Jul 28, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
The One-Piece Takeaway Like so much that is necessary, the one-piece takeaway is impossible. Only the half-divine, the smooth-backswinged ones, those of the balanced follow-through who keep their heads down, always, almost, can do it. Yet, half-mortal, they too can... Continue reading
Posted Jul 27, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Tinfoil o aluminium roll, o silver scroll confined in this cupboard, bound in cardboard, restrained behind a jagged blade that tears lengths away to mute the bowls and jars of the fridge — o small, spare life. I would free... Continue reading
Posted Jul 25, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Witness Sometimes the mountain is hidden from me in veils of clouds, sometimes I am hidden from the mountain in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue, when I forget or refuse to go down to the shore or the few yards... Continue reading
Posted Jul 21, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Toast There was a woman in Ithaca who cried softly all night in the next room and helpless I fell in love with her under the blanket of snow that settled on all the roofs of the town, filling up... Continue reading
Posted Jul 20, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Counterman —What'll it be? Roast beef on rye, with tomato and mayo. —Whaddaya want on it? A swipe of mayo. Pepper but no salt. —You got it. Roast beef on rye. You want lettuce on that? No. Just tomato and... Continue reading
Posted Jul 16, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
The Forest is Burning in the Palm of My Hand My son comes running across acres of grass. He is twenty seven years old. He is eleven years old. He is four years old. He turns his hand up to... Continue reading
Posted Jul 15, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Sideshow Have I spent too much time worrying about the boys killing each other to pray for the ones who do it with their own hands? Is that not black on black violence? Is that not a mother who has... Continue reading
Posted Jul 14, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Swan We live on a river in the country, we talk gently and listen easy, we lost our smoky bark and city hiss. You’ll play me the guitar, whilst I knead dough. I make enough bread to feed the ten... Continue reading
Posted Jul 12, 2017 at 3quarksdaily