Zumwalt Poems Online

Posts tagged ‘Zumwalt’

Time

Time

Time is a concept
By which we can relate energy and space.
I’ll say it again,
Time is a concept
By which we can relate energy and space.
 
I don’t believe in time zones.
I don’t believe in time clocks.
I don’t believe in the World Time Server.
I don’t believe in timeshares.
I don’t believe in Daylight Savings Time.
I don’t believe in egg timers.
I don’t believe in timesheets.
I don’t believe in quality time.
I don’t believe in real time applications.
I don’t believe in Time Magazine.
I don’t believe in time outs.
I don’t believe in the New York Times.
I don’t believe in railway timetables.
I don’t believe in reunions in Times Square.
I don’t believe in triple overtimes.
I don’t believe in Time Travel.
I don’t believe in the end of time
I don’t beleive in the beginning of time
I don’t believe in Once Upon a Time!
 
I just believe in space,
space and energy.
And that’s reality.
 
The poem is over.
Not.

–Zumwalt

propulsive retraction

propulsive retraction

because he retreats she goes after
now convinced that he is more than worthy of her
and when he approaches she retreats
certain that she would be accepting
less
than what she can get

she is unaware of how she is
pulled
and
pushed back and forth like
moonlit
tide of some California beach
she
is only aware of some vague confusion
and exasperation

in this marketplace you look carefully at weight and shape, knowing that
it is impossible to judge
content

in this marketplace you try not to keep a total of cost or the number of
items
taken of the shelf

she momentarily searches to say something
that she can later withdraw
she has aleady forgotten that it always pulls her
hardest
and head first.

— Zumwalt (1991)

They’ve Stripped the Forest for Babble

They’ve Stripped the Forest for Babble


Reams and reams
             The black-ink symbols innundate
             Flooding consciousness with printed words
                                          that possess
             Definitions but know no meaning
Tectonics, 
      Aardvarks, 
            political history of Byzantine hydraulics.
                        Dewey decimal has run rampant
                        Chasing, haunting, even lurking
                                  in the restroom
                        Parasitically clinging to the walls
 Stark and blatant waste or frivolous gaud
                        Venus dies --
                                   --                                          
                                   --    nonsensical nausea                       
                        The ice-age is returning
 

— Zumwalt (1974)

anchor’s away!

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

-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 by 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)