A Gaggle of Geese
A gaggle of geese
close by, haggling
beneath an overhang of clouds
billowing across flagged ends
and pinned to bare cold trees
(too thin to hide geese)
The argument grew louder
then fell again,
trailing off like an animal pathway.
The forest floor radiant, still,
breathing echoed whispers
my smucking boots in mud,
and dripping trees.
by David Wear
I am the Boy
I am the boy
Who plays with matches in your dreams
Who ties all your underwear in knots
On the evening of your Dream Palace recital
Where beggars clink gold spoons
On the edges of lead crystal goblets
And toast to peace in blood-dripped shoes
And princes and queens dance swirly dances
In the mirrored ballroom
Where you scratch away onstage
Behind your shrinking yellow cello
While all the damsels who do not dance
vie for a look.
by David Wear
Trust
A blind man rolls dice in the alley
he depends on dark men doubled over
to tell him what he’s lost or won.
He is laughing and cursing like the others.
It is his turn.
The boy buys bread
staring through the case at the baker’s knees,
He stretches up to the counter on his toes
deposits some bills from his mother to pay,
he waits for the bread to come down
and hopes there will be change.
The sweet young girl wears the red dress
because she thinks it looks pretty.
She thinks the boys like it for its redness
the way it moves on its own
under the lamplight.
The stray cat purrs and arches
against the leg of the violinist.
The old dog sleeps in the doorway
of the all night Chinese diner,
dreaming dog dreams.
by David Wear
Wired
Dragonfly
Creating and Sharing
These images of sculptures, carvings, poetry, and other creations … are for sharing for the pure joy of sharing as the creating was for the pure joy of creating.
Housekeeping
Words came drubbing on my hidden windows
Small words.
Dull thuds like disoriented bees.
I left the curtains drawn
So’s not to see; spilling black notes
Of music–some alone, some joined at the head,
Some with tails.
I felt them bump around my legs
As they scattered on the floor.
Others floated high above
Like slipping oval leaves floating
On a dark stream,
Swirling, hooking
Into open-closet backwaters
And foyer eddies.
The music, sweeping off to other corners,
Found her bright red dress, and
Threw all the curtains back,
And cranked out my windows,
So fond she was of all those thudding bees.
by David Wear