another montage poem, from an unpublished manuscript ...

this is another montage poem ... older posts are no longer showing up on the main page - i guess i've been adding often enough to have a real ARCHIVE!! Whooo-hoo! You can always click on the BLOG ARCHIVE button on the right side of the screen to read these earlier posts. You can leave comments, or email, and i guess you can do the hokey-pokey, if you wanted to ...

todays poem is from an unpublished manuscript - Night Of Hobo Dreams, but it was once in Humbly, ... as well (but hey, that's unpublished too) ... so who knows ... guess the bottom line is, it's unpublished, but one i feel belongs in a collection someday or another ....



ON-LINE RELATIONSHIP
-concept from Brenda Fleet
-after William Doreski

1
she wrote: i am essentially a romantic:
in love with flowers, pastel paints
& the flesh.

i adore wetness - the fog, mist
off the surf, rain or (if you must know)
the way water rolls off my breasts
in the shower.

it is understood i am no longer
a spring flower, rather a garden
that has been untended too long.
if there are dreams in your fingers,
if there is rain in your laughter -
i wait to grow old & romantic together.

2
he answered: i am essentially the rain,
falling straight down, cold - hard -
a January rain that no one enjoys, believing
eventually in the dark ocean.

but, yes, i do have dreams -
rusted & bent slightly out of shape.

there are few things i love
more than the smell of morning in autumn:
dew on lawns in need of mowing,
sunlight changing from one undefined color
to the next, half sounds that echo in memories -
all before the alarm clock of Mr. Wonderful Neighbor rings
with the odor of his dandruff shampoo
& his French Vanilla Coffee
& that damned diesel truck of his that needs to be warmed up.

for those who believe growing old is romantic
i send them swollen knees & arthritic fingers
that bend the wrong way, much as sunflowers
after the sun has gone down.

i send them old books of poetry
that no one has bothered to read.

perhaps, it is obvious it is not the romantic
i seek, but the romance.
i do shave in the mornings,
mostly because i find stubble annoying.

3
she responded:
rust is a sign of neglect. maybe what you need
is not a matron, but a mechanic.

water is the source of life. i would never
allow it to be a curse in my life.
while i would agree to send you poetical references
i do not believe you will ever encounter
the ghost of Walt Whitman (the body electric),
not as long as you allow your heart
to dwell in self created cancer wards.

there are red roses in my garden, not one blue one.
they are a symbol of my passion.
the twisted sunflowers you speak of ...
perhaps you are in need of planting new seeds.