Why would I make you work and guess
at what I really mean
unless I hardly know myself
or hate the thought of coming clean
Tag Archives: poetry
The eyes of Janine Jansen
Pluck cherries from an ever-ripe tree
Ocean nigh, starry sky
Here I stake my feary claim
Seasons unsing themselves and fall –
A dewfall on the heart.
Now not they but it
must turn and change colors
and bring forth life
from the duty divine.
Domestic
After her rough entanglement
and dalliance with the gods
she returned to whistling tea
and biscuits rich in butter
Show me, please
What love can do
Of ugly buildings and despairing souls within
Yes, you
with jelly dried
on your table.
See the jelly.
See the grape
the vine
the shine and the wine
it would’ve become
if not sent to you
to grace your toast
and table.
O Lord, take this wine.
O Lord, am I able?
Where it was shallow the grass poked through
Muddy furrows thoroughly filled –
the yard’s a lake.
You came across,
you in your boots
and green wax coat.
You had the mail,
the first in weeks.
The sun was shining then,
except for the clouds,
and where it was shallow
the grass poked through.
Glory in a block of wood, glory in a dream
You ran rings around yourself
every year until you were
full grown – dominant and
petulant. Then down you went.
Their job was to cut off everything
that stuck out. Which they did.
They limbed and bucked and sanded you smooth.
Slicked you tight and stood you up,
and now you’re dead alive, a lonesome beam.
But I know, I know:
those rings inside are circling still.
There’s glory in a block of wood.
There’s glory in a dream.
In which minds where
Do you live
and what do you do there
far afield, a pair?
I’ve got people in me,
they don’t even know.
And somewhere, too, I’m gone from myself.
I’m doing things I never will guess.
Utrecht Journal 