Zumwalt Poems Online

Archive for July 2, 2011

anchor’s away!

I want her to throw away the anchor.
She wants me to go overboard with it.

-zumwalt (1991)

the analysis of falling

the analysis of falling

when going down it pays to plan ahead
and calculate the moment of impact if there is going to be one at all.

It is not so good to remember how it started
or to speculate on how to stop.

the best thing to do is enjoy it.
and if you can’t enjoy it, make notes.

-zumwalt (1991)

note

i look at a note I jotted down
a thought
a revelation
an expression of truth

I trace my fingers over the loops and bends
I cannot remember what I wrote
and I cannot read my writing

-zumwwalt (1991)

plenty of structure

plenty of structure

repeat every action
            deftly
            neatly
            perfectly
until its actuality sinks --
deeply embedded into experience
making the way safe
for any other action

she felt so very much alone growing up
that she is uncertain she ever made it
she understood so little then
that she easily accepts false knowledge now
holding onto it more firmly than she has ever been held

the past
stumbles around
a
run-
down
down-
town                 disoriented
sometimes getting on a bus
only to be chased back into the street

not feeling safe and not far away
the present stays locked in an air conditioned hotel
facing the window
trying to recognize the homeless vagabond below

she thinks thinking will solve her problems
but doesn't want to think about it
she looks for a solution
where she can see it all
without ever having to look

backing away from the window
 driven be the unclear image that remains
   checking the doorknob as well as the latch
     present makes a promise
       that
         it's going to be the last time
 

-zumwalt (1991)

recollection

recollection

the roof is leaking

-zumwalt (1991)

She serves yogurt

She serves yogurt

Stupidly, like a dying man stumbling into a life insurance office,
I asked her out.
“What night did you have in mind?”
“Thursday would be best.”
“Sir, I don’t know how old you think I am but I am sixteen.”
Stunned, I made no reply and she took it for composure
and said yes,
warning me that her mother would have a fit.

-zumwalt (1991)

read between the lines

read between the lines.

-zumwalt (1991)

slabs of concrete

slabs of concrete


grab
pen
man

hold tight as might can

put the reigns in teeth of steel
in jaws of iron
neath mind of gold unmined

steer this silent steed sub-subway speed
over common ground
 which tread upon
   was forgotten
       remembered
and cast incautiously
     ... permanently?
     ... coherently?
such hunkish chunks of memory
         unevenly
into hand-picked 
     brick-thick 
     quick-hardening slabs of concrete


-zumwalt (1991)

backpack and acolyte

backpack and acolyte

with you on this trip
although suspicious of where you’re going
helping you carry suitcases you can’t lift alone

-zumwalt (1991)

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