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WWW.ROWEPOET.COM
POEMS by JOHN ROWE
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Forever – An Old Man Considers His Hand
An old man considers his hand
He gestures from atop a sun-polished hill
Movement comes from his beckoning motion
There is a bend of a tree to his right
Something will come like weather, he knows
This is like a prayer, a meditation
The sky is forever, now open palm raised skyward
Forever? He feels the curves of toes and
Knobs of heels fitted inside his boots
If he looks down, there's a long walk for his bones
Home, toward infinity -- he brings both hands
Together now in solidarity for what he carries within
Together now in solidarity for what he carries within
Home, toward infinity -- he brings both hands
If he looks down, there's a long walk for his bones
Knobs of heels fitted inside his boots
Forever? He feels the curves of toes and
The sky is forever, now open palm raised skyward
This is like a prayer, a meditation
Something will come like weather, he knows
There is a bend of a tree to his right
Movement comes from his beckoning motion
He gestures from atop a sun-polished hill
An old man considers his hand
Form: Tuanortsa ("astronaut" spelled backwards)
Grand Prize Winner -- 9th Annual Dancing Poetry Festival Contest
- San Francisco 10/02
(also appeared in BAY AREA POETS SEASONAL REVIEW)
Poem Space
Is the reaction,
a distraction,
sometimes an abstraction;
Consider subtraction:
What’s left? Perhaps
poem space
And it is the opening created
when the potter removes her fist
that moments before
she’d plunged into
a ball of clay
And it is the sun in our eyes,
the moon in our dreams
It’s found at the roots of a tree
and at its highest branches
It flies away
to return again
There: a nest, an egg,
poem space
It is silent and it is loud
It demands attention
and often wants to be left alone
It is misunderstood
or better yet, it is understood
in a multitude of ways
It is every breath and the last:
music of living, of dying
Poem space
will surprise you:
Just when you think
there is no more to be found
a stripeless tiger strides
around the corner,
growls while eyeing
the dripping paintbrush
you are holding
Of Course
Sometimes acceptance,
unlike a little pink pill,
is hard to swallow.
Sometimes letting something
run its course
is the course
to the doorway of light.
You can’t always expect
to have the cheese
without first mouse-sniffing
your way through the maze.
Amazing—life is!
Look at these times
of trying to walk
the straight and narrow
down the wide and crooked road.
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Things I Have Carried
Up these wooden stairs
then down
and up again
I’ve carried bags of groceries,
loads of dirty and clean laundry,
a suitcase packed for departure and return,
my journal half-filled with thoughts,
new and used books of poems
I’ve carried the outside in:
arranged the sun, moon, stars, rain, wind
in all the rooms of the house
to suit my mood or change it
I’ve carried the inside out:
releasing my words
as butterflies appear
floating/fluttering in the garden
Up these wooden stairs
then down
and up again
I’ve carried myself
day and night, all seasons
becoming accustomed to the creaks
in some of the floorboards
especially on those days
when I’ve been weighted down,
feeling lost with loss
On some occasions
I have not carried anything
instead found a place in time
to silently wait for words,
answers or questions
I’ve taken a seat at an open window
to view what stirs and is still
while a crow perched
on the neighbor’s fencepost
keeps an eye on my next move
or so I’d like to believe
I’ll carry the thought of you with me
as soon you too will walk these stairs
bringing a greeting, stories to share,
perhaps a flame without the candle,
a drop of rainwater, a feather if you will—
anything to add to or take away
from the weight of things
Rear View Mirror
While idle in my car at stoplight
waiting for the long minute
before turning green and moving on
I look in the rear view mirror
to examine faces of characters
waiting in their vehicles behind mine.
I watch and nobody knows but me
how discreetly, how deeply I watch
the driver and passenger
talking to each other too much
or not enough or not at all—
not that I’m one to judge – just curious…
Then there’s the solitary driver
with cell phone pressed to one ear
while extracting wax from other ear
with pinky finger.
There are all those lost in thought
got-to-get-to-where-I’m-going drivers,
those head-bobbing-to-some-radio-tune drivers
Or take this gal behind me last night—
smirk on her face, tilting her head
at an odd angle— for a moment I couldn’t
figure her out, but then realized that she too
was looking in her rear view mirror
at what was directly behind her, or maybe
she was just admiring her own reflection
and thinking that nobody had a clue
to what she was up to.
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