Saturday, January 10, 2009

December (c, d, e)

December (e)


Poems are like flies
or a cloud of gnats
Buzzing in front of your face
Getting in your eyes
Blurring your vision
making you blink
Asking for attention

But when the moon rises
They turn into moths
And if you place yourself at just the right angle
You can catch one
Hold it in your hands
And count the beats of its wings.

- - Eric Moes

December (d)


I don’t write about the Ancestors
I don’t know them
They don’t know me

Oh sure, they may have written a Haiku
Or Koan that brought a Samurai to his knees
With a mental marble rolling around in his head

But what is real about that now?
How about a haiku about mortgage backed securities?

That homeless guy’s limp is my koan
My utility bill offers me a chance of meditation
Sure you can write about peach tree blossoms
or strawberries at the edge of the cliff
But you’re missing the Nirvana in that can of boiled spinach in your kitchen cupboard.

- - Eric Moes

December (c)


I had a train set
With a little village nestled in a paper mache' hillside
As a child it was real to me
A thousand times Godzilla loomed over that hill
ready to spew his radioactive breath down upon the villagers
Sometimes I stopped him
Sometimes I didn't
God I loved that village

- - Eric Moes

1 comment:

WhatNow? said...

"I'm in the milk and the milk's in me. God bless the milk and god bless me."

Maurice Sendak