Helix #10
A blue enameled dutch oven
A locomotive’s slurred whistle thru a humid night
A mailbox on a post against a white sky
A propane truck marooned on a dirt road
A bottomless skyblue skyhigh June day
So this is the vew from forever
A name you’ve despised since childhood
A field of Black-Eyed Susans & Indian Paintbrush
An adjective an adverb a proper noun
A fireworks display at the valley’s southern
extreme A sky folding its violet petals
So this is what forever looks like from here
A bruised July sky thru interminable twilight
You were gone & you were so sad
A white sundress a white cumulous cloud
A white t-shirt white cigarette paper a white car
So this is the view from forever
A dogwood blooming a quarter mile distant
A white plate a white page speckled with words
Snow on Council Mountain dyed orange at sunset
A redwinged blackbird’s slurred whistle
A poem that doesn’t get written
A blue-green eucalyptus next to Fell Street
A verb an adverb a proper name
A black paperback a blue jumper a white shirt
A pergola exploding with pink roses
You want to be believed a white page
So this is the vew from forever
So this is what forever looks like from here
So this is what we mean when we say
Helix #11
A green rowboat
A flowering quince beside stone steps
A 5:00 a.m. silence punctuated with keystrokes
A large steel mailbox a trellised breezeway
A matchstick shade against the eastern sky
A portion of silence
A green August twilight a whippoorwill’s yodel
A whole tone scale on a console piano
You are here & you are not here
A radio signal traveling beyond the solar system
Ranch lights glinting green along the ridge
An Eb drone on a haromonium
You are here & you are not
A magnolia leaf fallen glossy on the walkway
A white car a sky of white cirrus an anxiety disorder
An instance of silence in motion
A cell tower on the mesa against a melon sunrise
A sound wave cycling in a square white room
You are here the melon sunrise over Lake Erie
You are walking you are driving your car
A sound wave cycling an unsolvable laughter
An instance of recognition as always uncanny
A crepe myrtle giddy with blossoms
A street lamp rooted in concrete
A barbed wire fence leaning from snow weight
A film’s blue ghost light a red theater chair
A sign stating You are here
Jack Hayes
© 2010
[By the by: if you're interested in the Days of Wine & Roses book giveaway or if you'd like to hear my interview with the famed Lambchop, please check out Eberle's Monday post on Platypuss-in-Boots! If you'd like to enter the book giveaway, please be sure to leave a comment & to mention your interest in the giveaway in that comment. Comments on the contest may be left anytime from now thru Thursday!]
Showing posts with label Helix poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Helix poems. Show all posts
Monday, February 22, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Helix #9
A black baseball cap
A puddle reflecting shattered starlight
A green metal patio chair outside the motel
A bottleneck guitar slide whining the octave
A batiked curtain a California poppy
A J-Church streetcar lurching into sunlight
You’re lost inside your life your voice gone husky
A luna moth on a breezeway lattice
A lime green sport coat the cuffs rolled up past the wrists
An outdoor café the streetlights glowing jaundiced
You’re lost inside your life on another street
A koa baritone uke strumming Moon River’s chords
A handpainted teacup a red pincushion
Black cottonwood limbs in 5:00 a.m. jaundiced fog
You’re asleep on a sofa the light an April goldfinch
A passionate kiss without the least recollection
A driftwood log charred black
An order of french toast the sunlight oozing honey
You’re anxious as usual the coffee cup’s bone white
A waxing moon at 3:00 p.m. a cornflower sky unfurled
A teardrop mandolin a red accordion
You’re lost inside life you’re sporting a Panama hat
A island in Lake Champlain a silver thunderhead
A harmonic minor scale a hawthorne bush
The hardest poem you’ll ever write until
The hardest poem you’ll ever write a long goodbye
Your life will you ever waken
Jack Hayes
© 2010
A puddle reflecting shattered starlight
A green metal patio chair outside the motel
A bottleneck guitar slide whining the octave
A batiked curtain a California poppy
A J-Church streetcar lurching into sunlight
You’re lost inside your life your voice gone husky
A luna moth on a breezeway lattice
A lime green sport coat the cuffs rolled up past the wrists
An outdoor café the streetlights glowing jaundiced
You’re lost inside your life on another street
A koa baritone uke strumming Moon River’s chords
A handpainted teacup a red pincushion
Black cottonwood limbs in 5:00 a.m. jaundiced fog
You’re asleep on a sofa the light an April goldfinch
A passionate kiss without the least recollection
A driftwood log charred black
An order of french toast the sunlight oozing honey
You’re anxious as usual the coffee cup’s bone white
A waxing moon at 3:00 p.m. a cornflower sky unfurled
A teardrop mandolin a red accordion
You’re lost inside life you’re sporting a Panama hat
A island in Lake Champlain a silver thunderhead
A harmonic minor scale a hawthorne bush
The hardest poem you’ll ever write until
The hardest poem you’ll ever write a long goodbye
Your life will you ever waken
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Two Helix Poems
Helix #7
A steel teakettle
A pair of black-rimmed reading glasses
The willow’s black branches tracing daybreak
A mullberry cotton dress with gray print
A redwood marimba
A poem you wrote when you were someone else
A redwinged blackbird trilling in February gray
Tumbleweeds heaped against a barbed wire fence
A hickory bookcase
An Amtrak coach pulling out in a light mist
You are somewhere else making a wish
An oxidized penny a jukebox quarter a broken promise
You are laughing a fountain it’s inscrutable
Yellow marimba mallets in a clear glass vase
An abandoned stone house along the Oregon insterstate
A diminshed chord a wedding that’s rained out
Lemon moonlight absorbed by lace curtains
An osprey nest on a telephone pole
A relief globe a coffee cup filled with pens
An order of chicken pot pie in Lancaster, PA
A Virginia crepe myrtle & magonlia twilight
A Saturday daybreak you’ve had no sleep
Like everything else it’s a postcard of Multnomah Falls
Like everything else you are & you are
Multiplicity itself like everything it’s a laugh
Like everything it’s a mullberry cotton dress
Like everything it’s February rain thru black willow branches
Helix #8
A meadowlark in the bitterbrush
A glass of milk a green plastic cup
A bandsaw cutting curves in pine boards
A white trellis festooned with blush roses
A cigarette in a clear glass ashtray
A dish of alicha ater on Haight St & winter drizzle outside
A streak of henna & black eyeliner
Raindrops beading on cherry blossoms & plate glass
A blue denim jumper a white t-shirt
A china bust of the Madonna
A grapefruit sunrise against the high Oregon desert
You are simultaneity itself & exist there
You’re in the middle of nowhere
A bridge in the Japanese Gardens an infinitesimal mist
A rusted water tower aswarm with pigeons
A blue-wallpapered hospital waiting room
A train crossing sign half buried in a snowdrift
A red tour bus
You find yourself in the middle of forever
An order of French Toast in a Winnemucca diner
A half moon suspended above the beachgrass & iceplants
A wedding that’s rained out amidst magnolias
A rufous-sided towhee in the tall hedge
A mahogany mandocello a Washburn guitar
A voice a face a thin dime daytime moon
The Southern Pacific Coast Daylight rematerializing
Everything that might have been did happen
Jack Hayes
© 2010
A steel teakettle
A pair of black-rimmed reading glasses
The willow’s black branches tracing daybreak
A mullberry cotton dress with gray print
A redwood marimba
A poem you wrote when you were someone else
A redwinged blackbird trilling in February gray
Tumbleweeds heaped against a barbed wire fence
A hickory bookcase
An Amtrak coach pulling out in a light mist
You are somewhere else making a wish
An oxidized penny a jukebox quarter a broken promise
You are laughing a fountain it’s inscrutable
Yellow marimba mallets in a clear glass vase
An abandoned stone house along the Oregon insterstate
A diminshed chord a wedding that’s rained out
Lemon moonlight absorbed by lace curtains
An osprey nest on a telephone pole
A relief globe a coffee cup filled with pens
An order of chicken pot pie in Lancaster, PA
A Virginia crepe myrtle & magonlia twilight
A Saturday daybreak you’ve had no sleep
Like everything else it’s a postcard of Multnomah Falls
Like everything else you are & you are
Multiplicity itself like everything it’s a laugh
Like everything it’s a mullberry cotton dress
Like everything it’s February rain thru black willow branches
Helix #8
A meadowlark in the bitterbrush
A glass of milk a green plastic cup
A bandsaw cutting curves in pine boards
A white trellis festooned with blush roses
A cigarette in a clear glass ashtray
A dish of alicha ater on Haight St & winter drizzle outside
A streak of henna & black eyeliner
Raindrops beading on cherry blossoms & plate glass
A blue denim jumper a white t-shirt
A china bust of the Madonna
A grapefruit sunrise against the high Oregon desert
You are simultaneity itself & exist there
You’re in the middle of nowhere
A bridge in the Japanese Gardens an infinitesimal mist
A rusted water tower aswarm with pigeons
A blue-wallpapered hospital waiting room
A train crossing sign half buried in a snowdrift
A red tour bus
You find yourself in the middle of forever
An order of French Toast in a Winnemucca diner
A half moon suspended above the beachgrass & iceplants
A wedding that’s rained out amidst magnolias
A rufous-sided towhee in the tall hedge
A mahogany mandocello a Washburn guitar
A voice a face a thin dime daytime moon
The Southern Pacific Coast Daylight rematerializing
Everything that might have been did happen
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Helix #6
[with apologies to Kurt Vonnegut...]
A pitcher of buttermilk
A banjo uke with birdseye maple neck
A pair of Converse high-tops
A field of dissheveled cattails in February
A streak of henna & black eyeliner
A dry lake bed in the Owens Valley
A periwinkle blue double-wide trailer
A poplar leaf on a wet sidewalk
You are perennial
Yesterday’s evening star in the rose sky
A ticket stub a cup of black coffee
A calla lily in Golden Gate park
You have lived several lives & it’s come to this
A St Martin de Porres novena candle
A trucker’s cap a ponytail
A luna moth at a West Virginia truck stop
A black heifer running loose on the paved road
A green metal gate a metal silo
A bouquet of tigerlilies
A New Directions paperback poetry book
A singular moment
A shooting star on a yellow-gray summer evening
A smoke ring in a Pennsylvania restaurant
A John Deere tractor in an unkempt November pasture
A crepe myrtle in blossom
A red plush theater seat in the blue movie light
You've come unstuck in space & time
A peacock on the lawn a brick walkway
A gray & smoky 6:00 a.m. the lace curtains drawn
You are one fallen star amongst every other
Jack Hayes
© 2010
A pitcher of buttermilk
A banjo uke with birdseye maple neck
A pair of Converse high-tops
A field of dissheveled cattails in February
A streak of henna & black eyeliner
A dry lake bed in the Owens Valley
A periwinkle blue double-wide trailer
A poplar leaf on a wet sidewalk
You are perennial
Yesterday’s evening star in the rose sky
A ticket stub a cup of black coffee
A calla lily in Golden Gate park
You have lived several lives & it’s come to this
A St Martin de Porres novena candle
A trucker’s cap a ponytail
A luna moth at a West Virginia truck stop
A black heifer running loose on the paved road
A green metal gate a metal silo
A bouquet of tigerlilies
A New Directions paperback poetry book
A singular moment
A shooting star on a yellow-gray summer evening
A smoke ring in a Pennsylvania restaurant
A John Deere tractor in an unkempt November pasture
A crepe myrtle in blossom
A red plush theater seat in the blue movie light
You've come unstuck in space & time
A peacock on the lawn a brick walkway
A gray & smoky 6:00 a.m. the lace curtains drawn
You are one fallen star amongst every other
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Two Helix Poems
Helix #4
A yellow N scale caboose
A sagebrush hunched frail against the gray snow
A roan horse steaming in a January field
Everything you see is talking back
A derelict crossing signal a vacant brick depot
A flicker perched in a silvery poplar
A movie theater the light gray & silver
A century rose encircling a dead cottonwood
A gray-blue bowl
A pussy willow in bloom in early March
A purple crocus a red crocus
A crumpled poem in a sport coat pocket
A white sun dress a navy pea coat
A streak of henna in February sunlight
A whelk a conch a sand dollar
You can’t take your own reflection
An N scale 19th century steam engine
A bolo tie a black sport coat the sleeves rolled up
A Joshua Tree in white blossom
An evening replete with silence & more silence
A pair of black-rimmed reading glasses
A screen door the screen torn in patches
A silver daytime moon beside a gray cloud
Your face intent & absorbed
A blue note that doesn’t resolve
A redwing blackbird’s urgent February trill
Your uneasy place in forever
Helix #5
A pink silk rose
A white & blue ceramic elephant teapot
A safety pin a brass thumbtack
An umber sofa you doze there at 2:00 p.m.
A February lemon sun
An white enamelled bowl brimming with rosehips
A 50s postcard shaped like California
A crescent moon tattoo
A Union Pacific train emerging from an Oregon tunnel
A glossolalia of dogwoods & laughter
A coonskin cap in a roadside tourist shop
A statue of Nuestra Señora a metal bed frame
A stile stepping into the dry September pasture
A great blue heron
A red tin roof brushed slick with hoarfrost
A train you are never there to meet it
A porch with wooden railing a green May twilight
A mockingbird in a tulip tree
A white cord hammock
You are laughing a fountain it’s incomprehnsible
A black magic marker a wooden letter opener
A wooden spatula a red & white teapot
A plate of lemon pasta a pair of irrigation boots
A train you are never there to see it off
A flock of guinea hens cackling in the cottonwood
A C major seven a D minor seven transposed a major third
A divided highway at 3:00 a.m.
A silver flute a lime-green ukulele
An evening in a bookstore without any hope except hope
Where are you in your words
Jack Hayes
© 2010
A yellow N scale caboose
A sagebrush hunched frail against the gray snow
A roan horse steaming in a January field
Everything you see is talking back
A derelict crossing signal a vacant brick depot
A flicker perched in a silvery poplar
A movie theater the light gray & silver
A century rose encircling a dead cottonwood
A gray-blue bowl
A pussy willow in bloom in early March
A purple crocus a red crocus
A crumpled poem in a sport coat pocket
A white sun dress a navy pea coat
A streak of henna in February sunlight
A whelk a conch a sand dollar
You can’t take your own reflection
An N scale 19th century steam engine
A bolo tie a black sport coat the sleeves rolled up
A Joshua Tree in white blossom
An evening replete with silence & more silence
A pair of black-rimmed reading glasses
A screen door the screen torn in patches
A silver daytime moon beside a gray cloud
Your face intent & absorbed
A blue note that doesn’t resolve
A redwing blackbird’s urgent February trill
Your uneasy place in forever
Helix #5
A pink silk rose
A white & blue ceramic elephant teapot
A safety pin a brass thumbtack
An umber sofa you doze there at 2:00 p.m.
A February lemon sun
An white enamelled bowl brimming with rosehips
A 50s postcard shaped like California
A crescent moon tattoo
A Union Pacific train emerging from an Oregon tunnel
A glossolalia of dogwoods & laughter
A coonskin cap in a roadside tourist shop
A statue of Nuestra Señora a metal bed frame
A stile stepping into the dry September pasture
A great blue heron
A red tin roof brushed slick with hoarfrost
A train you are never there to meet it
A porch with wooden railing a green May twilight
A mockingbird in a tulip tree
A white cord hammock
You are laughing a fountain it’s incomprehnsible
A black magic marker a wooden letter opener
A wooden spatula a red & white teapot
A plate of lemon pasta a pair of irrigation boots
A train you are never there to see it off
A flock of guinea hens cackling in the cottonwood
A C major seven a D minor seven transposed a major third
A divided highway at 3:00 a.m.
A silver flute a lime-green ukulele
An evening in a bookstore without any hope except hope
Where are you in your words
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Helix #3
a straw cowboy hat
a canteloupe sunrise a snow glazed ridgeline
a white-crowned sparrow in a willow
a narrow wallpapered hallway its doors all closed
a white wicker hamper
a diner glinting stainless under a palm tree
you are someone else you cannot be known
headlights on the dirt road at 5:00 a.m.
a raven hunched on a cedar fence post
a black madonna
a haystack draped with a silver tarp
a styrofoam coffee cup
what does memory show
a sheet of beeswax for candles
a waxing moon electrifying the snow
you are someone else you cannot be known
a green linen sport coat
a blue glass mixing bowl
a ticket stub you can’t recall the film
a line that divides & connects
frost constellated across this morning’s windshield
reflections in a resonator guitar
a stainless steel measuring cup a red plastic handle
a magnolia petal like a sob & another
the naked thorn trees the January garden
a ring-neck pheasant forages next to the tall hedge
a highway's divided line
Jack Hayes
© 2010
a canteloupe sunrise a snow glazed ridgeline
a white-crowned sparrow in a willow
a narrow wallpapered hallway its doors all closed
a white wicker hamper
a diner glinting stainless under a palm tree
you are someone else you cannot be known
headlights on the dirt road at 5:00 a.m.
a raven hunched on a cedar fence post
a black madonna
a haystack draped with a silver tarp
a styrofoam coffee cup
what does memory show
a sheet of beeswax for candles
a waxing moon electrifying the snow
you are someone else you cannot be known
a green linen sport coat
a blue glass mixing bowl
a ticket stub you can’t recall the film
a line that divides & connects
frost constellated across this morning’s windshield
reflections in a resonator guitar
a stainless steel measuring cup a red plastic handle
a magnolia petal like a sob & another
the naked thorn trees the January garden
a ring-neck pheasant forages next to the tall hedge
a highway's divided line
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Helix #2
[New poem by yrs truly. New title, too. As Eberle says, if you're going to invent a new form, you oughta be able to name it. So I did. Will there be more? We shall see!]
a drab January goldfinch
a letter written on yellow legal paper October 1978
a white two-story house a red door
an Oregon butte flashing orange at sunrise
a tidal pool pulsing with sea urchins
you are far removed
a junco skittering across the porch
a willow bough frothy with wet snow
a quart of Ballantine ale
a white pick-up a ladder in the truck bed
a magpie scudding above the highway
winter’s horizons shimmering with ghosts
fog rolling blue & white from the ridge
you are sobbing & nothing adds up
a yellow January sunrise
a yellow August sunrise a screen window
a bald eagle perched atop a cottonwood
a dog-eared copy of Leaves of Grass
irrigation pipe on wheels sunk in the drifts
a brown fedora a black print skirt
a willow’s orange limbs in the snow in Lake Fork
you are somewhere in the fog beyond the fog
a summer morning’s sobbing birdcalls
a gray t-shirt a pair of stained Reeboks a television
wire-rimmed glasses red flannel pajamas
irrevocable distance between then & now
footprints in snow on the frozen lake
Jack Hayes
© 2010
a drab January goldfinch
a letter written on yellow legal paper October 1978
a white two-story house a red door
an Oregon butte flashing orange at sunrise
a tidal pool pulsing with sea urchins
you are far removed
a junco skittering across the porch
a willow bough frothy with wet snow
a quart of Ballantine ale
a white pick-up a ladder in the truck bed
a magpie scudding above the highway
winter’s horizons shimmering with ghosts
fog rolling blue & white from the ridge
you are sobbing & nothing adds up
a yellow January sunrise
a yellow August sunrise a screen window
a bald eagle perched atop a cottonwood
a dog-eared copy of Leaves of Grass
irrigation pipe on wheels sunk in the drifts
a brown fedora a black print skirt
a willow’s orange limbs in the snow in Lake Fork
you are somewhere in the fog beyond the fog
a summer morning’s sobbing birdcalls
a gray t-shirt a pair of stained Reeboks a television
wire-rimmed glasses red flannel pajamas
irrevocable distance between then & now
footprints in snow on the frozen lake
Jack Hayes
© 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Helix #1
an arthritic finger
a quonset hut hulking in January drizzle
a teardrop tattoo
a chowder shack in Bodega Bay
a misty November afternoon spilling over with gulls
a flagstone walkway
a cigarette butt in a puddle outside the hospital
you are older
a coil of barbed wire breaks thru pasture snow
a dish of paella in Baltimore
it was January you should have been elsewhere
a peony blooming next to concrete steps
a pair of chipped bifocals a pair of frayed black sandals
a kestrel preening in the willow
a star tattoo a daytime moon
a purple cyclamen on a San Francisco patio
a string quartet a picnic dinner on the lawn
an archtop guitar
a game of croquet a storm approaching from the south
a Council, Idaho July 4th parade
a dogwood blooming like laughter
a cottonwood’s seedpods exploding amidst May’s bees
a future loaded with blanks
where have you been all this time
Jack Hayes
© 2010
a quonset hut hulking in January drizzle
a teardrop tattoo
a chowder shack in Bodega Bay
a misty November afternoon spilling over with gulls
a flagstone walkway
a cigarette butt in a puddle outside the hospital
you are older
a coil of barbed wire breaks thru pasture snow
a dish of paella in Baltimore
it was January you should have been elsewhere
a peony blooming next to concrete steps
a pair of chipped bifocals a pair of frayed black sandals
a kestrel preening in the willow
a star tattoo a daytime moon
a purple cyclamen on a San Francisco patio
a string quartet a picnic dinner on the lawn
an archtop guitar
a game of croquet a storm approaching from the south
a Council, Idaho July 4th parade
a dogwood blooming like laughter
a cottonwood’s seedpods exploding amidst May’s bees
a future loaded with blanks
where have you been all this time
Jack Hayes
© 2010
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