Owed to Sharon Olds

sharon olds

Owed to Sharon Olds

I don’t often do poetry.
Do you?
I write, a poem approaches with a mumble.
Mourning doves peck my ears.

Tell us, what awakens you?
The sound of a feral cat crouching under the forsythia?
Cloudy Saturdays?

Can you taste the options simmering by the bacon?
The physics of serendipity, the Heisenburgian choices?

Are you still on Facebook?

Radio topography decelerates with the internet.
Time slows at the speed of connection.
Ads stalk your search engine like unchanged oil.

I overslept after Friday, tardiness startled me.
Like Lewis and Clark without a compass.

Do you ever go exploring?
I touch time zones of later longitudes.
My fingers tap possibilities.

Did you ever get frost-bitten?

My ears bud alertly.
The guest poet of Krista Tippett’s “On Being” podcast.
Did my painter friend in Memphis hear it?

He squeezes a dab of tinted oil onto the palette.
The windows of his studio open westward,                                                                   the river poses.
He rubs a hue into the canvas.

Tell us, please, the scent of the Mississippi.

Maine remains.
Clams favor the flavor of the waves.
My friend near the cove, she once herded ducks,
did she hear the poet’s deliberate voice?

How do you remove blueberry stains from a white blouse?

About orangeacorn

We are, I believe, and everything is, in perpetual unfolding/enfolding/evolving. By surface appearances, we're in turmoil and fearfullness, but in fact our existence is on the edge of a new way, beyond the US versus THEM we have grown with. I encourage you to join me over coffee or tea in face-to-face encounters. I call this exercise, "CAFFEINE COMMUNION: Encounters with Paradigm Pioneers." I'm a Columbus, Ohio husband, father and citizen. I practice string band sounds from the ridges of Pocahontas County, West Virginia, the vortex of the ancient drone.
This entry was posted in Orange Acorn, Performing Arts, poetry, The Un-empiracal and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Owed to Sharon Olds

  1. Rachael Coe says:

    COOL POEM!!! I want to hear this poetic voice and feel the call to herd ducks.


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