Category: Poems

Poem

Exhausted Peace

He struggled with himself
Madly wrestling the angel of death
Crazy and lightheaded with exhaustion
With resentful glare
He stood back and lowered his arms
Prone
The other stood calmly proud
 Defenses throbbing away in echoes
 There was never an intent to harm
In this respite:
  “Man, I don’t want to fight you
    — What are we doing?”

In Praise of Mended Things

Those items that fit me well
 touch my soul
Some spirit of serendipity
 saw to it and allowed our meeting

Perhaps in my loving it
 too much, too long
I wear it bare
Unwilling to part with it
I take it to that little local shop
 or take a needle to it with my novice hand

That once foreign object of love
 Now broken–in
  transfigures into something
  sturdier than when we begin
Those insightful adjustments
 second nature after so much shared trail
 weave into the mending
Now on our second honeymoon
We find ourselves wholly together

Museum

God, I thank thee
 such passionate and sensitive artists
 could express themselves so powerfully
 enough to gather together
 in so suitable a house
 your creatures; my privilege
  to witness and breathe in

Snow Smile

You know
Gazing into your smile
I have nothing to offer you
Except the overwhelming gushing
 of appreciation
 for you, flame
You introduced me to life then
 Playing in the snow
  Rather than shoveling it

Initiation

So, the forest fairies embraced her elbows
 led her to the enchanted stream
 baptized her in cool water
 down
          down
                   down

With held breath, stammering, she watched
 the color of her hair flow into the river
 the blush of her checks flow into the river
 the ruby of her lips flow into the river
 freckles, one by one by one
 the glow of her skin flow into the river

Crystalline, transparent, she became
 one with the river
Invisible flowing wings pushed her
 flying
 breaking the surface
Her body jumped back onto her
 and she recovered in her nymphs’ arms
Sister

The Art of Action and Being

In my desire to embrace the world,
embrace for love, for safety,
no, not for love — so chilling,
for safety, I conceive the world determinable,
employ science and social contracts,
morals and power,
all for my well–intentioned designs

Do not go coming around bringing up the ghost of love
to haunt my bones,
to turn my castles in the air to dust.
I’d have to give up everything
science cannot calculate,
contracts cannot account for,
morals cannot heed,
power cannot glory in its deeds,
only that I may look in your eyes
and know you

the factory belts overflow untended
the stocks: lost opportunities
my work hours fly by
just to gaze at you

my research and masterpieces
ring hollow
and it is so important
to do
Bah!
you,
tormenting me
to look upon you
I howl,
shiver like a child in my toddler shoes

With what crazy faith you do tempt me to my insanity,
Oh God, oh God,
boohoo

The Erotic Poetry of David Anderson

All is peaceful in your bed
As you lay there sitting
with a comforter in your lap
and a bevy of pillows up your back,
wreathing round your head

Sweet visions you entice
Wearing nothing
’cept a red handkerchief
whose nettled florals shade your eyes
and invite in a garden
Dream of bright daylight

My tender lips do gently suck, once each
the gravity side of heaving breast, underneath
and wander down circuitously
in the lazy business of a bee
frantically, humbly, bumbly, dallying

Then that sweet–smelling bud is joyfully discovered
Upon which our bee gingerly endeavors
onto sacred ground
Exploring about for what there is to take
As legs press deeply into petal’s folds
In response to his cantankerous march
Our flower unveils herself in an expansive sigh

Now the stamen is found
and only nectar is wanted
Oh, such a busy bee
so adamant about it
As flower trembles this way and that
Supporting the little fellow

At long last the pollen is taken up
The flower is conscious of the loss
In remembrance of such ruddy gifts
The bee gathers every last bit
And gently flies away

Now the gardener saunters in
For our flower must be parched
well, we’ll drown her anyway
It's so steamy at midday
in burning summer

The hose has been lying out in the sun
all this time
Though cold water runs from its base
it will come out hot

Careless lobs of water
Thrash, thrash, in and out of the petals
There, finally, the hose is fixed
Oh, but the constant undulating pressure
Has the gardener gone negligent?

For a span of unendurable length, our fragile flower
held down under violent, heedless protuberance
shuddering in its overwhelming strength
And suddenly,
water gone;
petals thoroughly soaked

So much abuse for so innocent a flower
and nowhere to go for safety
For all the bittersweet torments
she finds herself handled safely
better off, even