Poems Times Six

Frida

Spitting out her beauty and disgust,

She jiggled ghosts and skeletons,

Emptied blood and I was there.

I cleaned up her mess,

I fed her dog and I made her bed.

I watered the garden by the Pyramid

And it blossomed.

In life or death, I must see her again.

She’s just like me;

God and the devil

Wrapped up in one tamale.

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Rome in a Day

Rome sits on its seven haunches

And the pines, with fountains in their branches,

Old road markers in the Appian sun,

Are stolid, green and well run.

A conservative morning begins with dawn

And makes its logical way as a pawn

Is moved one square at a time

To Noon. It seems all right, but I'm

Conscious of a skip in my heartbeat,

And the Day pops like corn in the heat

Of a sudden three o'clock. The wrench

Of time ticks in my ears. I hunch

My watch into a shadow to hide

It's face from the white glare. Inside,

The gold hands turn green and catch

On the number six. I light a match

To see if they will stick there

As the fountains, with pines in their sprays, share

Their fate, dwindle and dry in the light

And Rome gets marching into the Night.

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A Swallow Speeds On

Morning: Two eggs, coffee with cream.

A fly noisily zigs and zags.

Noon: Ham and cheese on bread.

A butterfly silently flits and flits.

Evening: Steak and French Fries.

A hummingbird looks on while hovering.

Night: Four cookies and milk.

A bat menacingly zooms.

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Ti depool

Invent the waves and vivid pools with me,

Cool, industrious, dibbling at our toes,

And let your knees snatch back at laps of sea.

Wade deeper toward the hole where seaweed grows,

Kick lively now, hitch up your sagging suit

And hold my hand. If you cannot see,

Loosen your grip, sit on my friendly foot,

Relax and let your hair float out to me.

I’ll pull you to a swirl for us alone

Where we can touch and float asleep or wake

And be content awhile with what we’ve sown.

To love where all we give is all we take,

As fishes waken from their restless sleep

To watch us drifting till we’re in too deep.

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Medical Exam

Two soldiers, one all white, one all red,

Guard the north wall of the cubed room.

Squat, each with a pedal

To open the lids hands-free.

Fourteen inches square, fifteen high,< /p>

Steel with polished mechanisms,

Spare, utilitarian,

Made in Switzerland.

Plastic liner bags skirt the tops,

Peek from the edges of the covers

Like play-filled children unready for sleep.

The sentinels neither bark nor rattle.

They stand so white and so red

Keeping all predators at bay.

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At The Center

"In Emergency Push To Open,"

The automatic doors read on the unwashed, dribbly glass.

The further, outer door carries the same remark.

Between the first and second lies a cross-hatched

Block-built carpet, mole-grey brown.

The door to the entrance-garden has the same dribbles

And moves just as automatically.

Inside the inside, thick nurses, men and women, pad by.

Television gurgles softly, patients and personnel murmur,

Little clicks and taps identify heels and wheels,

Medical machinery and dropped tongue depressors.

Outside the outside, greenstuffs, and

Traffic tooting and squealing.

Between the inside and the outside lies a

Cross-hatched, block-built, mole-grey brown

Carpet.

Jack Wilson is a poet and artist from Los Angeles and Phoenix. His Poems have been published in the New York Times, The New York Herald-Tribune and numerous magazines. He founded a Poetry magazine in Tempe, Arizona called All Too Soon, which was distributed at Changing hands Bookstore and elsewhere.

http://www.geocities.com/galimatio/jackwilson.html

Author:: Jack Wilson
Keywords:: Poem,Poetry,Modern,Frida,Medical,Rome,Center,Exam,Swallow,Literature,Day,Night,Sentinal,Pyramid
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