Posted in Harry Calhoun, tagged poetry on October 5, 2010| 5 Comments »
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.
Posted in Harry Calhoun, tagged poetry on September 28, 2010| 2 Comments »
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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.
Posted in Harry Calhoun, tagged Harry Calhoun, poems, poetry on July 18, 2010| 1 Comment »
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.
Posted in Harry Calhoun, tagged poetry on May 10, 2010| 2 Comments »
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
deuce coupe 