Cathedral

by Rodney Jones

Over time it occurs to me
I am building a shed that will burn.
Footer and sill, whatever I do
flames blue and translates to ash.
The nail shrieks as it enters the joist
and streams out, shrieks
and drips a metal tear
from the elemental eye.

What I do not know is here.
I worship wood and the instant.
What is over, I can never finish.
The angel of work is sweat.
And still as I move the brush
many faces look back at me.
The stain vanishing into the knot
reminds me of something I forgot.

***

In a later entry, I will tell you were I found this absolutley astounding poem.  In the meantime:

Rodney King’s book of poetry, Salvation Blues: 100 poems, 1985–2005, is AVAILABLE AT AMAZON

About Rodney Jones AT BLACKBIRD

An interview with Rodney Jones at STORY SOUTH.

Put your weenie away and pay attention!  Are you paying attention now?  Are you feeling it?  Absorbing?  Luxuriating?  Thinking?  I hope so, because I will be asking you about this the next time we talk.

xo, Angela

Man Writes Poem

by Jay Leeming

This just in a man has begun writing a poem
in a small room in Brooklyn. His curtains
are apparently blowing in the breeze. We go now
to our man Harry on the scene, what’s

the story down there Harry? "Well Chuck
he has begun the second stanza and seems
to be doing fine, he’s using a blue pen, most
poets these days use blue or black ink so blue

is a fine choice. His curtains are indeed blowing
in a breeze of some kind and what’s more his radiator
is ‘whistling’ somewhat. No metaphors have been written yet,
but I’m sure he’s rummaging around down there

in the tin cans of his soul and will turn up something
for us soon. Hang on—just breaking news here Chuck,
there are ‘birds singing’ outside his window, and a car
with a bad muffler has just gone by. Yes … definitely

a confirmation on the singing birds." Excuse me Harry
but the poem seems to be taking on a very auditory quality
at this point wouldn’t you say? "Yes Chuck, you’re right,
but after years of experience I would hesitate to predict

exactly where this poem is going to go. Why I remember
being on the scene with Frost in ‘47, and with Stevens in ‘53,
and if there’s one thing about poems these days it’s that
hang on, something’s happening here, he’s just compared the curtains

to his mother, and he’s described the radiator as ‘Roaring deep
with the red walrus of History.’ Now that’s a key line,
especially appearing here, somewhat late in the poem,
when all of the similes are about to go home. In fact he seems

a bit knocked out with the effort of writing that line,
and who wouldn’t be? Looks like … yes, he’s put down his pen
and has gone to brush his teeth. Back to you Chuck." Well
thanks Harry. Wow, the life of the artist. That’s it for now,

but we’ll keep you informed of more details as they arise.

***

Even if you think you don’t like poetry, how can this one not charm the pants/panties off you? 

Thanks to my constant gardener, PQS, for sending THIS my way.  And … you can HEAR GARRISON KEILLOR  READ THE POEM OUT LOUD.  Simply scrumptious.

xo, Angela

Why I Have A Crush On You, UPS Man

by Alice N. Persons

you bring me all the things I order
are never in a bad mood
always have a jaunty wave as you drive away
look good in your brown shorts
we have an ideal uncomplicated relationship
you’re like a cute boyfriend with great legs
who always brings the perfect present
(why, it’s just what I’ve always wanted!)
and then is considerate enough to go away
oh, UPS Man, let’s hop in your clean brown truck and elope !
ditch your job, I’ll ditch mine
let’s hit the road for Brownsville
and tempt each other
with all the luscious brown foods —
roast beef, dark chocolate,
brownies, Guinness, homemade pumpernickel, molasses cookies
I’ll make you my mama’s bourbon pecan pie
we’ll give all the packages to kind looking strangers
live in a cozy wood cabin
with a brown dog or two
and a black and brown tabby
I’m serious, UPS Man. Let’s do it.
Where do I sign?

***

See?  There’s someone for everyone. 

Ms. Persons at Wikipediaand The Writer’s Almanac