'Red Heel' | w.va. | may 2010 | douglas imbrogno

UNDRUNK

Is how
I prefer
you.

I’m just
saying.
Nothing

more than
that,
my dear.

This is
no judgment.
Nor, god

knows, an
argument.
We, too, after

all,
were
intoxicated

with our
usual
emendation.

It’s the
sloppy talk
that makes me

want to slouch
outside in
streetlamp calm.

Fixing on
the crescent moon.
Its mouth agape

transfixed by Venus,
a pale fire flickering
the darkling heaven.

from “What I Meant to Say,” by Cardinal Crowe (The WestVirginiaVille Press)

hazelwood place | december 2009 | douglas imbrogno

…………………………..

EMBER POEM

In the light given
all the light this
night, iridescence
of a bronze shield

hair drawn off cheek
pulled back to reveal
Artemis. Or is it Selene?
Crescent moon

tumbling like a stone
in a roil of black-purple
clouds over head.
Don’t doubt, although

I know you must. A hundred
times, the gods say – don’t
go to the hilltop. But you do,
which is, of course,

their point. A deer,
white as Carrarra marble,
on the lip of the
pine-scented woodland

incantatory, whispers:
‘Artemis Agrotera,
Potnia Theron.‘
Flees into the dark.

“Some say Turtle live forever. His children say he carries Mother Earth on his back through space as a reward for his courage and kindness.” ~ Native American Legend

THINKING of TURTLES

I have lately been
thinking of turtles.
This began when

a box turtle, snatched from
the center line of  a country road,
peed a lime-green squiggle

on the passenger side
carpet of my car,
halted in a stranger’s driveway

to airlift the thing out
of harm’s way. It wants
to get out of the car,

this turtle. I risk my own
life & limb to reach down and
stop its clamber up and

into the car’s inner workings
as I proceed down twisty W.Va. 2.
A few miles later,

I hand the turtle over
to the seven-year-old daughter of
my friend Magdalene.

The girl and two pals put
it in the grass, expectant.
Waiting for the drawbridge

of its shell to open, so they might
say hello, peer into its orange eyes,
old as the hills

and get some news from this
ancient wayfarer. We decide -
I decide – judging the message of (more…)

cabell county sky | douglas imbrogno | 2009

ANOTHER TRAIN

My ink-stained hands
hear the sound of the railroad, another train
passing through my town

here at
the middle of nowhere
and everything.

On the porch, the perfect
circles of Honduran cigar smoke
smell like dirt and bourbon,

the sun a vast memory, the
cold dark triumphant.
I have been here on the edge

of this cliff, pondering
how edges offer answers to both
the suicide and the poet.

Looking up, the purple
godless sky swallows
the day’s catastrophes

of which there have been many,
as usual. In that yawning chasm
all the world’s screams

are like the echo
of a distant
yelp.

Gizmo the Cat with Buddha in the Rock Garden

A Note to My 17 Most Faithful Readers (MFR):

Dear MFRs,

Hi! I know I have been MIA, blogging-wise. I can explain. I have been:

~ Teaching myself video editing with Final Cut Express.
~ Hanging out with Buddhist monks in orange mou-mous.
~ Trying to create Final Cut Express videos with monks in orange mou-mous.
~ Singing and playing lots of guitar.
~ Feeding the cats.
~ Figuring out what to do with the rest of my life.
~ Hoping 53 is the new 43.

Meanwhile, until I get back on the blogging hobbyhorse, and were you the sort of person who is into epic poetry for all ages about dragons, mammoths, redemption, scurilous characters, Greek choruses and action-packed adventure tales filled with colorful characters including a wiley queen in a rolling thrown and her French jester, Vick Falco, you could spend some time with ‘Snatchgrin,’ if you wish.

Let the reader beware: This is an ancient Web site, taken offline in preparation for re-design and re-launch, possibly later in the 21st century. Sometime. Maybe. We’ll see. But if you’ve got a sharp kid who loves to read smart fantasy, or your inner smart kid is still awake and alive, well then …  click here or on the dragon and enter Snatchgrin’s world:

Yours,
The Committee on the Resumption of Regular Blogging

photo | grace imbrogno mckeown | 2010

Something from Nothing

I want to see
if it is possible
to be a
nobody

from nowhere.
Creating something
out of nothing

for someone
who might be
anywhere.

~ the cardinal of crowes