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Archive for the ‘Harry Calhoun’ Category

Night calling by Harry Calhoun

Train horn wrapping gently around the ears,
moody, yearning and dark, crowding softly
over the eyes and passing through the nostrils

past the borders of simple awareness,
as if it has become part of the soul,
a soul filled with soft midnight sound,

and the clack of the train behind it
the last sweet knock of sentience
between now and our blessed sleep.

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Night calling by Harry Calhoun

.

Train horn wrapping gently around the ears,
moody, yearning and dark, crowding softly
over the eyes and passing through the nostrils

past the borders of simple awareness,
as if it has become part of the soul,
a soul filled with soft midnight sound,

and the clack of the train behind it
the last sweet knock of sentience
between now and our blessed sleep.

Read Full Post »

Summer, fleeting, flashing

The fireflies soaring through
the summer pines
in my mere back yard

seem almost as high
as the tops of those pines,
and on their way to the stars,

and given their brief fiery
mating existence, who knows,
maybe they are, and maybe

I am too.

_________________________

Running from my dog

She quotes me statistics on exercise
and calories burned. She, ten years my junior,
sometimes runs with our black Lab.

When we walk together I sometimes struggle
to keep up, broken down with the inevitable
injuries over the years. Today the dog

runs ahead, pulling me, young and strong.
And I correct him, gently, and under my breath
I say, “Slow down, boy, someday

It will be your turn.”
And sadly, it will.

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Two Poems by Harry Calhoun

Why?

Time that should be the weekend spotlight
caught between nips of Scotch from the closet.

What’s pinned beneath your ruined wreck
of a psyche and torn between money and death

is trapped in the headlights, running for deer life,
wakened again from the recurring dream: Following

the taillights and their red messy trail back
from work every day, following and leading

an endless stream of idiots doing the same
and the same and the same and doomed

to repeat it tomorrow again and forever
amen
_____________________

Anthropomorphism

The purple azalea
hidden behind the stunted pine

is what it is
and where it is

and I feel its sadness
that the slow growth

of the spruce bush
scrubs away

its beautiful
significance

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