poetry 0

 

 

1 determine strong/weak strees.(accent) ex) between, Radio. Do this every single word in the poems

2 what is verse? couplet, triplet quatrain, sestet, octave etc?

3 rhythms lamb, trochee anapest, dactyl etc?

4feet? trimeter, tetramater? Pentameter, Haxameter etc?

 

first poem is in red and second one is in blue

 

Oranges

 

The first time I walked

 

With a girl, I was twelve,

 

Cold, and weighted down

 

With two oranges in my jacket.

 

December. Frost cracking

 

Beneath my steps, my breath

 

Before me, then gone,

 

As I walked toward

 

Her house, the one whose

 

Porch light burned yellow

 

Night and day, in any weather.

 

A dog barked at me, until

 

She came out pulling

 

At her gloves, face bright

 

With rouge. I smiled,

 

Touched her shoulder, and led

 

Her down the street, across

 

A used car lot and a line

 

Of newly planted trees,

 

Until we were breathing

 

Before a drugstore. We

 

Entered, the tiny bell

 

Bringing a saleslady

 

Down a narrow aisle of goods.

 

I turned to the candies

 

Tiered like bleachers,

 

And asked what she wanted –

 

Light in her eyes, a smile

 

Starting at the corners

 

Of her mouth. I fingered

 

A nickle in my pocket,

 

And when she lifted a chocolate

 

That cost a dime,

 

I didn’t say anything.

 

I took the nickle from

 

My pocket, then an orange,

 

And set them quietly on

 

The counter. When I looked up,

 

The lady’s eyes met mine,

 

And held them, knowing

 

Very well what it was all

 

About.

 

 

 

Outside,

 

A few cars hissing past,

 

Fog hanging like old

 

Coats between the trees.

 

I took my girl’s hand

 

In mine for two blocks,

 

Then released it to let

 

Her unwrap the chocolate.

 

I peeled my orange

 

That was so bright against

 

The gray of December

 

That, from some distance,

 

Someone might have thought

I was making a fire in my hand

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A valentine for ben franklin who drives a truck in california

 

I cut the deck

 

 

 

and found a magician

 

 

 

driving a mack truck

 

 

 

down the California grapevine.

 

 

 

His eyes were glistening Japanese beetles,  

 

 

 

and his hands were surveyors of the moon.  

 

 

 

He pulled a carnation

 

 

 

out of his sleeve,

 

 

 

and offered me a ride.

 

 

 

I took the flower and said I was leaving  

 

 

 

to be an illusionist. He said

 

 

 

he specialized in cards

 

 

 

and sleight of hand.

 

 

 

I touched his mouth and ears

 

 

 

with my lips,

 

 

 

                   “Keep on truckin,”

 

 

 

I said.

 

 

 

But he laughed and told me a bedtime story.  

 

 

 

His body was an elm.

 

 

 

His mouth was filled with grapes.

 

 

 

His hands turned my body into new honey.

 

 

 

Now I am home alone,

 

 

 

reading directions

 

 

 

for sawing a beautiful woman in half.  

 

 

 

First you start with a mirror … .

 

 

 

Before I turn down

 

 

 

the crisp sheets of my bed,

 

 

 

I shuffle the tarot deck.

 

 

 

But the magician is missing.

 

 

 

Is he

 

 

 

still driving the freeways of California?

 

 

 

Or is he

 

 

 

only an illusion

 

 

 

in my own  

 

 

 

magician’s  

 

 

 

head?