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W A N D E R E R' S Nook

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  • Deborah White
  • February 12, 2008 05:02:20 AM

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Life's painting in verse. da Vinci said: "painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen" -- he's was quite right.

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Bag (a revision) by DjWhite

When it's done,all that's left is whatI've carriedI'm an over lookedforgotten brownoh  selfish  hedonistyou need meand will find me somewhereKrogers a State Store hiddenat the end of check-out linessmooth and flat.My progenitors have beengone for hundreds of years,but, I'm still herewasteful  wasteddead as they are dead as youYou won't remember meand don't want tooSo, cruel your lessons learned,narcissistic madnesssuch bankrupt morality unfoldsmy creases looking for Godyet...


Wiring Home by Rita Dove

 RITA DOVELest the wolves loose their whistlesand shopkeepers inquire,keep moving, though your knees flushred as two chapped apples,keep moving, head up,past the beggar's cold cup,past the kiosk'strumpet tales ofodyssey and heartbreak-until, turning a corner, you stand,staring: ambushedby a window of canariesbright as a thousandgolden narcissi.**Rita Dove is a former US Poet Laureate** Modern American Poetry...


Possibilities written by DjWhite

It's possible that I'll find you stewingon the stovelayered between bubblesof beef and sour cream; or maybe I'll see yougripped franticallyat the end of the cat's taildesperately holdingto self-preservation.Often, I'll catchyou swagger throughthe doorjust behind my smarter halfaround dinner time at 6PMlisten to yousnickering at the heated debatebetween him and his zipperover the frailtyof restraint's constitution.But, normally, it'll beon a rainy afternoon --while I sit beside the windowin this...


Selecting a Reader by Ted Kooser

First, I would have her be beautiful,and walking carefully up on my poetryat the loneliest moment of an afternoon,her hair still damp at the neckfrom washing it. She should be wearinga raincoat, an old one, dirtyfrom not having money enough for the cleaners.She will take out her glasses, and therein the bookstore, she will thumbover my poems, then put the book backup on its shelf.She will say to herself,"For that kind of money, I can getmy raincoat cleaned." And she will. -- Ted Kooser[Ted...


Picnic, Lightning by Billy Collins

It is possible to be struck by a meteor or a single-engine plane whilereading in a chair at home. Pedestriansare flattened by safes falling from rooftops mostly within the panels of the comics,but still, we know it ispossible, as well as the flash of summer lightning, the thermos topplingover, spilling out on the grass.And we know the message can be delivered from within. The heart, no valentine, decides to quit after lunch, the power shut off like a switch, or a tiny dark ship is unmoored into...


Promises by DjWhite

What I saw in your eyeswas the lilt of a wordlesspsalm,a silentcantataMesmerizedI rockedswayedto rhythms, of your whisper and sultry promiseswafting along the headyscent of old spice and pipe-smokedswirl of cherry civet.Purring, I arced for the momentthe moment.  **I usually don't write love poems but this was one time I did**...


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