a daily log of ryhthm
by Charlie Morgan
with my Caribbean Joe sunglasses,
i assume the Captain's Chair;
begin the posture of CAPTAIN!
i type Errol Flynn; Johnny Depp.
i'm gonna bet God uses disapearing ink;
and all the while He paints each season,
that's with one hand, the other,
He paints moods, loves, landscapes.
He melts the cracks of January into streets;
while most of the buildings in downtown mumbled;
like Capistrano the holiday birds are back.
sidewalks filled with workers; buildings itch.
the inner lining of a day is shed; a season too.
starting in the afternoon, He holds dusk in His palm
for miliseconds. curtains' of gravity tote the 'morrow.
and the dying do so, the young wait their turn.
Posted on 01/11/2010
Copyright © 2023 Charlie Morgan
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Michael Smith on 01/11/10 at 08:18 PM|
Might this be a bit preemptive? I hope so as I'm not quite ready for Winter to be over. :) Though, this week's warming will be a nice change... is it creating good boating weather? I wouldn't know...
Chuck (may I call you Chuck?), that second stanza is killer, man. The seasons are indeed beautiful unto themselves and they disappear for that reason? A very remarkable interpretation. And it goes on in a temporally relevant way which most of us are probably witnessing right now (I know I am right outside the window), with melted ice running down the street and buildin's needin' fixin'
I can't say enough about this Charlie. It is divine -- it is exquisite. And, I think the phrase "curtains of gravity" is so awesome as well as pertinent to its physical existence. The title is clever in its own mathematical-reference way but it ties in too...
This, my friend, will undoubtedly go to the top and then some.
|Posted by George Hoerner on 01/11/10 at 09:23 PM|
Another good'un Charlie. You could send a little spring here to the Myrtle Beach area. It was 14 when my wife got up this AM. And we moved back here from WY for this? Well it's 14 above not below. Keep your an eye on that young'un. He'll grow past you eatin that wonder bread.
|Posted by Joe David on 01/12/10 at 04:22 AM|
I dunno know, dude. I think The Man, He be whispering in your ear. A little too close to the source if you know what I mean, and I think you do. How you know this stuff? I know you for 30 years, and I don't know how you know this stuff. Even the Son of The Man could work no miracles in his hometown. By the way, I be wanting my sunglasses back. Who knows, the sun may be shining pretty soon. At least it might on short counselor dudes who know too much. Get me. You're just getting way ahead. No way I can catch up. Another by the way, I missed the Capistrano thing today. Decided to sleep in. Hope you took good notes.
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 02/15/10 at 12:31 AM|
This poem emphasizes for me the constancy of the seasons and the sureness of change--and death! The earthquakes made a much stronger statement - change can be violent, tragic,and very long lasting--though the seasons stay steadfast.