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Jim Culleny
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On Shakespeare .. —after Iqbal River mirrors the glow of dawn Night silence mirrors night song Rose mirrors the fame of spring Bridal cup mirrors the virgin wine Sun’s glory revealed in the sun Your passionate speech mirrors my heart... Continue reading
Posted 13 hours ago at 3quarksdaily
Song 2 When I leave this little town Harmonicas will play all night long.. But I won’t be here.. I know that as I sleep The words I use and the way I walk are pantomimed.. In the square a... Continue reading
Posted 3 days ago at 3quarksdaily
We Join Together Spokes in a Wheel We join spokes together in a wheel, but it’s the vacant hub that makes it possible for the cart to move. We shape a pot to make a void to hold whatever we... Continue reading
Posted 4 days ago at 3quarksdaily
Father You were mine With Your subtle Limp And Fedora mustache As we Silently Went About The Business Of Shuffling The Papers On Those Cold Damp Mornings Both Wishing The News Wasn’t So Damned Important . by Bill Schneberger Continue reading
Posted 5 days ago at 3quarksdaily
Lullaby for a Daughter Go to sleep. Night is a coal pit full of black water — ......... night is a dark cloud full of warm rain. Go to sleep. Night is a flower resting from bees — ......... night's... Continue reading
Posted 6 days ago at 3quarksdaily
First Poem of the Morning When you and I wave I wonder if for you the stranger across three gray rooftops over the blackbirds pecking the softening skylight rim of morning through the shapes of blackened branches on the other... Continue reading
Posted 7 days ago at 3quarksdaily
. I remember your square jaw father Strong and viselike Your grip Of my hand father That wouldn’t let go I remember you at the bottom of the stairs father Telling me We had to go son now I remember... Continue reading
Posted Apr 14, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
The Tree . The tree my father grew from his garden I take an axe and branch by branch I break the tree and set to work the million maddened bits, the fire of night. Only for ash I keep.... Continue reading
Posted Apr 13, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Hvar/Glagoli a man enters the vineyard, sits and weeps at the edge of the island, where God no longer awaits the stars to reveal himself to the sea, the woman rises and jumps into the sea, One and the Other... Continue reading
Posted Apr 12, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
We remember the rabbit when we see the duck, but we cannot experience both at the same time. ........................ —E.H. Gombrich, Art and Illusion . Duck/Rabbit What do you remember? When I looked at his streaky glasses, I wanted to... Continue reading
Posted Apr 11, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Astronomy Lesson The two boys lean out on the railing of the front porch, looking up. Behind them they can hear their mother in one room watching “Name That Tune,” their father in another watching a Walter Cronkite Special, the... Continue reading
Posted Apr 10, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Again and Again Again and again, however we know the landscape of love and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names, and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others fall: again and again the two of us walk... Continue reading
Posted Apr 9, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
White Lines (#312) White lines on the highway skidmarks of angels by Wendy Jane Agnew from The Lillian Lectures Coach House Books, 1998 Continue reading
Posted Apr 8, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Performance I starred that night, I shone: I was footwork and firework in one, a rocket that wriggled up and shot darkness with a parasol of brilliants and a peewee descant on a flung bit; I was busters of glitter-bombs... Continue reading
Posted Apr 6, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
. at this moment, writing, I sense what poetry is about but when I think about it it eludes me by definition just as water cupped in your hand disappears between your fingers when you spread them or the sky... Continue reading
Posted Apr 4, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows... Continue reading
Posted Apr 3, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Under our boot soles In memory of Jim Thomas Once you stepped out an open window onto nothing we could see from our desks, and for a whole long second you floated and didn't fall through two floors of air... Continue reading
Posted Apr 2, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Drinking Alone I take my wine jug out among the flowers to drink alone, without friends. I raise my cup to entice the moon. That, and my shadow, makes us three. But the moon doesn't drink, and my shadow silently... Continue reading
Posted Mar 30, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Chai I've only seen a photograph — boats anchored on the muddy shoals of the Ganges. Splintered canopies on top of blistered bows and sterns, sari'd women leaving their men to wash, or launch the dead among the reeds. A... Continue reading
Posted Mar 29, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Tante Tina Puts the 1991 Gulf War Into Perspective ............... (for my mother, 1911-2001, whose story this is) I have a right to be cranky, ja. I am an old lady. You come sitz mal here. Na, a little closer.... Continue reading
Posted Mar 28, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Three Trees ............—for J, J & I I planted three trees, for privacy and for feeling near to the soil. Three ferns, two a fairer shade of green, the middle one a clone of my father’s dark spire. (One Spring,... Continue reading
Posted Mar 27, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
The Time of Our Lives I am having the time of my life digging up an old pine stump with my daughter in the bright fall sunshine. Everything I need to know about life And death is in this moment.... Continue reading
Posted Mar 26, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Shadowing the Medivac He's already in the car, an hour's drive he can't allow himself to think, just drive in the helicopter's shadow peeling silently over the hills, silently, like nothing is happening inside, nothing going on, can't think of... Continue reading
Posted Mar 25, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Cockspur Bush I am lived. I am died. I was two-leafed three times, and grazed, but then I was stemmed and multiplied, sharp-thorned and caned, nested and raised, earth-salt by sun-sugar. I was innerly sung by thrushes who need fear... Continue reading
Posted Mar 23, 2014 at 3quarksdaily
Uncle Dog : The Poet At 9 I did not want to be old Mr. Garbage man, but uncle dog who rode sitting beside him. Uncle dog had always looked to me to be truck-strong wise-eyed, a cur-like Ford Of... Continue reading
Posted Mar 22, 2014 at 3quarksdaily