Monday Poem

///Girl on Trapeze—Vignette through a windshieldJim Culleny……………………………………..Young chick at a curb waiting for a green. It comes, she goes head downchecking out the cut of her jeans:how they lay across her shoes;the way the inseams hug her firm thighs;the fine, faded blues. Sweet on self, she imagines an approaching guysees what she eyes: sees himself…

Monday Poem

///“I don’t think I ever was a child.” –Coleman Hawkins, top sax jazzman Jazzman Said I don’t think I ever was a child Was I a child?I don’t think so If I ever was a childI’d know. …I don’teven know, Jazzman said,if a child ever was Child, Jazzman said, I don’t just thinkI play jazz…

Monday Poem

/// Unworthy GuideJim Culleny ……….. This is the fabulous story of Heracleitus, the philosopher of Flux  This is the very short version, in which super-misanthropic Heracleitus, who has shunned the family of Man, returns to the city from years in the woods a very sick man with bleak prospects.  He returns to find a cure…

Monday Poem

///The Pool of Buddha’s EyesJim Culleny The asphalt of the walk to the door is blackbut not as dark as the silence of the concrete Buddha on the porchas I climb the steps to work. The Buddha sits center on the top stepwith downcast eyes, a nascent nest in his hands, eyeing bits of straw…

Monday Poem

///Tabula RasasJim Culleny In our town new mothers spring up like weeds.They roll fold-up strollersalong Bridge Street ortote sleeping babes that loll liketot marsupials in sacksstrapped across breasts:gene parachutestrussed over shouldersand buckled in back. A moment agothese moms were totmarsupials too. Now, out of nowhere–ignorant as saints or immune from despair, or both–they come toting…

Monday Poem

by Jim Culleny in a blink the sun comes upover mountains sublime and the sea laps its brim like a pup regal elms come and gosplayed trunks broken by blightlimbs corrupt future and past collidewinds whistle side by side bodies touch and often burn up wars ragescriptures are taughtgood and bad divide killers are caughtdoors…

Monday Poem

//Blue under BlueJim Culleny We were sitting on a bench under blue under the bush of a willow admiring her garden whenI saw an Indigo Bunting but didn’t know it when I did. Look, I said, a bluebird on the wall! No, the fabulous near-turquoise of it,its deep and tiny beyond-blueness makes itan Indigo Bunting,…

Monday Poems

///Backyard HaikuJim Culleny Damn!under a flat rockthe chipmunk, scooting, is gonethe cat’s tail twitches. Politicsbefore time runs outit’s important to breathe freeat least once, no less. SuddenessA cat waits underthe wisteria, so cool.A bird flies too low. Chimineahere’s the fire, red inthe chiminea, flamingin fall before snow. Emissionsit’s snowblower timeyellow overalls appearexhaust and white plumes…

Monday Poem

///Everybody Loves Their ToolJim Culleny Word has it that in the beginning was the word and that may be true but(just as a matter of shameless self-promotion), it’s clear that opener was written by a bard If the same thought had sprung from a painter it would have read:In the beginning was the line or…

Monday Poem

///A Weekend in the Garden of My SixtiesJim Culleny Two days behind a roto-tiller panting like a spent muttyou get to meditating on poor Yorick’s skull. Barely holding back the stallions of a Briggs and Strattonyou smell the nearness of becoming void and null. You wonder how’s my ticker doingand will I soon me caving…

Monday Poem

///Hazy Moon Jim Culleny Last night I almost hugged the hazy moon, that crazy bubble in the skywho is ever entering new phases. She rose red, round, and hugeas a melon of imagination. She loomed listening to the pine pitchand birch bark, an ear for the night choir.She tugged,I leaned as she rolled higher. Two…

Monday Poem

/// Frida Kahlo’s BrowsJim Culleny Who would not be blown awayby Frida Kahlo’s brows? They soar over her eyes like a crowbroad      black      wings      spread two hooded planets in its gripscanning for a place to light and dine the back-to-back parentheses of her nose poised beneath, but above the pursed lips of…

Monday Poem

///On finding a lifelong friend and lover while reading Martin Buber in a diner— Over the CounterJim Culleny I lean from behind Buber whileThou serveth me caffein and smile. I know my elbows rest upon the sky.O! the blue formica shines. I see your red cheeks blarein oval frame of hair. Arthur stares me down.He’s…

Monday Poem

///SugarphoneJim Culleny Your voice on the telephoneis sugar to my ears. Your electric breath nudging magnets,eating miles as it comes — meeting relays, swelling,exciting antennae… Your voice runs with light. It enters at absurd gatesconvoluted to catch frequenciesof love and death; appendagesthat on my young freshcut headonce stood out like pink wings. Now on this…

Monday Poem

///The Tao that can be thought of is not the real Taoso the Tao that can be spoken is not the real Tao either soooo, the Tao that can be named is likewise nothing too..………………………………………–Lao Tzu, sort of 'The spirit of the best of men is spotless, like the new Lotus in the [muddy] water…

Monday Poem

/// The Four Horse’s Asses of the NecropolisJim Culleny Why would the Four Horse’s Asses of the Necropolis still strew fetid flowers upon the pathof the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, as an ill-wind blew the scent of aftermathinto the faces of a peoplebarely mewing? Would even horse’s assesherd us down the trail of our…

Monday Poem

…Cat Dance MusicJim Culleny Dance! Delphiniums winddance   with phlox in Pat’s garden. They sway in quiet concord, rooted in motion. Dancing’s a vital sign of endless youth;even my grandmothers danced:one danced to accordianed polkas;corseted cantileverd bosom bouncing.The other jigged across her chicken yard with handfuls of eggs –having just left her henswithout yield– acting…

Monday Poem

..“We’ll fight them there so we won’t have to fight them here, regardless of innocents.” —a patriot. From the Same Root—the prayer paradoxJim Culleny The French call a wound a blessure;but a blessure sent by Godmight be be a blessingfor all we know. If so, couldn’t a blessing be a blessure? Certainly. Depending uponwho’s the wounded…

Monday Poem

WakeningJim Culleny 1 Facing Goliath Like wound springs we wait inside a medic’s roommy dearest friend and lover sits upon the table. We do the ritual things we dowe laugh against doom. Like David with his stone we do the tiny things we’re able. 2  The Surgeon Said Some days I think lies would serve…

Monday Poem

Back on the night 1999 arbitrarily became the year 2000 I stood in the middle of an intersection in Northampton, Massachusetts with friends.  Some in the crowd were wearing absurd 2000 eyeglasses, those with horns blew them, others yelled and stomped, confetti exploded from hidden places, and hugs and kisses were exchanged as the ball…