Though we bang the door for answers
and throttle the concierge
Tag Archives: poetry
All a kind of manna
First it snows blossoms,
then it snows hail,
then it snows snow
All my worthless dying
Not to myself, just dying.
Optic
The mist you’re in
is light on the dirt
on my own window.
I’d clear if it I could,
to see you as you are.
The superior life above
Two lines of birds,
two helicopters circling
seeking
the accomplice?
of the wanton killer,
and a lone jetliner
leaving our fair town
Calling
Other people are doing other things,
but only I can do this.
I threw away this: ?
And turned it all into facts
Dispersion
Can you shoo a ghost
away like smoke,
do you
hurt its heart when you do?
I crack the mind its knuckles
To pop the day it plans
The beginning of the end
It started with salt.
The doctor said,
If you would
not be dead,
eat no more.
So he didn’t.
Not even on apples.
From not which came,
but still it came,
the fall. He fell,
not dead, but
hit his head –
on the tub, she
found him on the floor.
Alive is alive
till truly it’s dead
(though to God, you see,
no one is dead).
The ambulance came.
From church he was led
to his just end of salt
on apples evermore.
In loving memory of John Peter Sondgerath (D. 19 April 1979)
Utrecht Journal 