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

///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

…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

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…

Monday Poem

Looking for EvidenceJim Culleny Poor Darwin.Forever dissed by people-of-the-book, he rummaged through bins of bones flinging one after another over his shoulderlooking for a missing link. Femurs and fibulas went flying. Knuckles and kneecaps rained.Disks —the pride of vertebrates— hit walls and ricocheted like pucks slap-shot by blood-thirsty Bruins.The thud of ulnas and clavicles drummed…

MONDAY POEM

.. –yesterday at a local wired coffee house: the place is full, but no one’s talking —McSorley’s Bar it’s not. Internet CafeJim Culleny where virtual folk with cappuccinos gather at tables like islands of stone in zen gardens,faces lit by laptops—and no one’s apt to stepinto the cool raked space between, to be laughingly hugged…