tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62079457838079907752024-02-08T06:43:01.738-08:00Bare Feet and FeathersA Collection of PoetryHaven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-40913313649588799252020-11-06T18:09:00.002-08:002020-11-06T18:12:38.392-08:00Almost Invisible<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">No outstanding warrants on me</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">I need to commit a crime</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Because no one knows me</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Somebody has always done worse</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Dad never missed knowing</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">I could have done better</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Five friends at his funeral</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-align: left;">Never heard of me. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">I was the smoke in the censer</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Shook over his casket</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Every morning shower, I make plans</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">To change the course of history</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Every evening home, I’m shattered</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Seeking the glue of vodka</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">I can’t sow peace in my garden</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Without killing seedlings</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">And mutating every myth of life</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Somewhere between skin and muscle</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Is the malignant cancer of a lie</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Somewhere between eye and sole</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">Is the expanse of hope. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(69, 69, 69); color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;"><br /></div><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /></p>Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-88385998814197901322013-04-29T20:17:00.000-07:002013-05-31T20:54:05.526-07:00Super Hero<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We've got bone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We've got muscle<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">and feet on the
earth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Arms that reach<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Eyes that see<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">and hearts to
bleed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Infect us with
magic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Irradiate us with
light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Expel us from a
planet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Enervate the
vigilante.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Crack every chrysalis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Let the mutant
emerge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Celebrate mutation
in unique dance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Spread your cape
over the earth<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Spin your web and
fly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Conceive of every
device against evil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Get drunk on
the possibilities of becoming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Explode into
solitary martial violence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Bam! You'll slam
against a wall of evil. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Crash! You'll bash
the body of your villain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Wham! Your heart
and hate will jam your soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Smash! Love will
slash itself from within<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Whoosh! All that
is you will fly into space<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And your feet will
stand on the earth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We lost you when
you left to become <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Muscle and bone
beyond your suit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">You rose above us
for us to reach<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A spot in heaven for us to aim<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">More than you ever
knew, that is you<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">For us to be. For
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">You remember us.
Remember me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A piece that
belonged left blank<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">for peace amongst
them and we<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The empty side of
the bed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Vacant for justice
and freedom<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">You've become what
you should be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-71596639067238805702013-03-03T13:08:00.000-08:002013-03-08T17:58:27.876-08:00An Atlas and a Box of CrayonsApprehending the Atlas,<br />
Pondering its problems.<br />
Its all wrong.<br />
Stay calm world,<br />
I've got this.<br />
<br />
Got a box of Crayolas.<br />
Look from the box to the map.<br />
Is sixty-four enough?<br />
There's a lot of work to do.<br />
Colored wax to the rescue!<br />
<br />
Where to start?<br />
Where to start?<br />
Where to start?<br />
Big problems. That's it.<br />
Hot spots. Get them fixed.<br />
<br />
Jerusalem. Everyone wants it.<br />
Jews. Muslims. Christians.<br />
We take complex toys<br />
from toddlers and shelve them<br />
So, out goes Jerusalem.<br />
<br />
(I'm going to need the Holy Blue<br />
Uh, Cerulean? Close enough)<br />
<br />
Where to put it?<br />
Greenland! Perfect. Plop it down.<br />
The Dome of the Rock.<br />
The Wailing Wall<br />
and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre<br />
resting on glaciers and Inuit bones.<br />
<br />
Denmark controls Greenland?<br />
Whoops, sorry about that Danes.<br />
Think of the tourism<br />
A hundred million pilgrims<br />
are pointed your way.<br />
You might want to put on the coffee.<br />
<br />
Australia catches my eye.<br />
It looks suspicious<br />
loitering down there in the corner<br />
All of those sun kissed faces,<br />
big hearts and big hands.<br />
That's a hot spot too!<br />
<br />
Skootch over New Zealand.<br />
I need some room.<br />
Magenta in hand<br />
(remember- they drive on the left down there)<br />
I draw one car door in the Tasman Sea<br />
There. Too Hot Australia?<br />
Just reach over and roll down the window.<br />
<br />
There are too many borders in Africa<br />
Out comes my white crayon<br />
Sharpest one in the box<br />
Never been used<br />
and I'm coloring over every border,<br />
erasing boundaries,<br />
freeing the continent<br />
and wondering what this metaphor means.<br />
<br />
Did I paint snow in the Sahara?<br />
Did it rain somewhere in the jungle?<br />
Let this be the wax of peace.<br />
Let me admire you Galatea<br />
Not bad. Not bad at all.<br />
<br />
There's North America.<br />
The United States<br />
A thrombus of throngs<br />
Gordian in depth<br />
Unfathomable and nearly opaque<br />
My home, somewhere, under there.<br />
<br />
Connecticut? What were we thinking?<br />
Such a long name. Such a small state.<br />
There's Long Island. We're north.<br />
I can't write us in. Not enough room.<br />
Out comes scarlet<br />
and down goes one red heart.<br />
Home.<br />
<br />
My little red heart<br />
clinging to a continent<br />
looks hopelessly lonely.<br />
Someone throw it a line<br />
Tie it fast before it goes over<br />
and is lost into the Atlantic.<br />
<br />
Sorry New Jersey.<br />
You're shit-out-of-luck.<br />
No heart for you!<br />
Now I feel bad.<br />
What kind of poet am I?<br />
They're still suffering from the storm<br />
I couldn't begrudge a bit of crayon?<br />
Oh okay, here New Jersey, have a heart.<br />
<br />
Two little red hearts<br />
cling to the continent.<br />
<br />
And one big map<br />
left far too blank.<br />
<br />
Sigh. There's only one thing to do.<br />
Grip the scarlet and start to the right<br />
One red heart for Puget sound<br />
A line of hearts marches east<br />
then south goes the love<br />
to Baja and then east again<br />
<br />
Scarlet, scarlet and more scarlet<br />
The Dakotas, Colorado Minnesota<br />
Arizona, New Mexico and Texas<br />
An army of little red hearts<br />
splash right across the Mississippi<br />
(Sorry Canada, thought you wouldn't mind<br />
some wayward love wandered your way).<br />
<br />
I finish Florida first in a glossy read sheen<br />
then up the East coast over beaches and....<br />
Washington?<br />
Skip the District, come back later,<br />
Down from Maine marches my mad army<br />
a cascade of love joins my home<br />
and New Jersey.<br />
<br />
One small spot is left unblemished<br />
Our Capital. The District of Columbia<br />
Hordes of hearts crowded outside its gates<br />
The murmur of my army<br />
a mantra of peace painted red<br />
infiltrating the Capitol<br />
with scarlet whisps<br />
infecting our leaders<br />
with love.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-18340003649224235382013-02-02T21:59:00.001-08:002013-02-02T21:59:07.801-08:00CharismaCharisma don't matter<br />
It don't matter a damn<br />
Whilst my blood <br />
Pour through your hands<br />
<br />
You gonna tell me I'm ugly<br />
Or, you gonna tell me I'm pretty<br />
When I'm a-holding your heart<br />
In the palm of my hand<br />
<br />
Yeah, that 's what I thought<br />
You're soft, You might be a poet<br />
But you ain't no preacher<br />
And you got no charisma<br />
<br />
Pick up your arms<br />
Step in line<br />
Shoulder up<br />
Get some blood on your hands<br />
<br />
We got a world to build<br />
<br />
<br />
Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-28242791788609361932013-01-31T10:00:00.000-08:002013-01-31T10:00:10.629-08:00Standing on Laguna Beach with the Ocean behind Me<br />
<br />
The Pacific pitches a fit behind me<br />
as if someone in Japan snapped<br />
their end of the sheet<br />
and fired a rolling riot of wet over the earth<br />
to crash into the edge of Laguna.<br />
<br />
Laguna splays out from the sand between my toes<br />
It seeps and spreads and the piles and agglomerates<br />
from the beach to the boardwalk<br />
into the streets and through the shops<br />
up, up over the steep hills<br />
and out through the canyon road.<br />
<br />
I'm stretching my eyeballs<br />
I'm trying to see through it all<br />
Straight, right on through, across the continent<br />
all the way home to Connecticut.<br />
That's when Laguna stops being Laguna<br />
and I see it for what it is...<br />
the edge of America.<br />
<br />
Coming back toward me, from the east,<br />
and beating back my sight right into my eye sockets,<br />
is the whole of history. An impenetrable phalanx<br />
A phalanx of hominids but its not a parade.<br />
There's no order to it.<br />
Just the chaos of America. All of it.<br />
<br />
The Chumash, Pomo and Salinan<br />
bleed right through the Navaho and Apache.<br />
All of our most ancient cultures are here.<br />
Somewhere in the back, I know I'll find<br />
the Pequots and that's close to home for me.<br />
<br />
This misty wall of spirits is a graying calico<br />
Every class and definition is in there, in some thread<br />
There are missionaries and Jews.<br />
Muslims, witches and non-believers.<br />
Anarchists, Republicans, Democrats and Communists<br />
I can see farmers, miners, teachers<br />
and office workers and accountants and lawyers.<br />
All of the great workers of this land<br />
caught in the glimpse of one portrait<br />
The muscle and bone of three hundred million<br />
caught forever for one small second.<br />
<br />
This tsunami of cultures and languages,<br />
this cacophony of colors and creeds,<br />
clamoring for validation,<br />
it rises and crashes<br />
louder than the Pacific<br />
louder than all of the seas<br />
releasing their waves at once.<br />
There's no union that I can see.<br />
I don't hear any harmony.<br />
No evidence of brotherhood<br />
or sisterhood. I don't even see good will.<br />
<br />
The only things I know I can see<br />
and feel and understand<br />
is the sand between my toes<br />
and the sky over my head.<br />
And I know we're all here<br />
Alive and dead alike<br />
We've got the whole continent under us<br />
and the whole universe over us.<br />
And those are the things that make us one.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-993871168631730372012-07-07T18:30:00.000-07:002012-07-07T18:32:39.259-07:00Portrait of a Cat BathingThe cat bathes with gravity<br />in a taffy of light<br />pulled from our star<br />and knotted to a home made afghan,<br />a hand-knit event horizon.<br />A cat bath is an infinite Sunday<br />condensed into a self-absorbed mass<br />of luxury and fur.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-49852651464564912362012-03-24T21:33:00.001-07:002012-03-24T21:33:41.525-07:00The Extinction of Poems(inspired by two poems. The first is "Memo from the Desk of X" by Donald Justice. The second is "Like Gods" by John Koethe)<br />
<br />
God, make this desk bleed<br />
the consubstantiation of me.<br />
What Divinity I might have,<br />
make its stain spill out in letters<br />
in words, in imagery, in faith,<br />
in raspberries, in feathers, in heaven.<br />
<br />
I'm crying citrus to an aluminum ceiling<br />
Hard rain splatters back. Silence.<br />
Mine is a desk of flat packed pressed wood.<br />
My shoe is as real as my sole. It walks<br />
on earth, on concrete, on asphalt<br />
in rain, in snow, in heat, in gloom of night.<br />
<br />
This is a field divided<br />
the poetry of possibilities<br />
versus the prose of facts.<br />
My soles stamping out rhythm<br />
My soul exiled into night<br />
A stanza as vivid as a crow in the snow.<br />
<br />
Good night to dreams<br />
no night for dreams<br />
Let wine be for forgetting.<br />
Step over the wire<br />
and embrace the facts.<br />
The Justice Memo received<br />
let poems go extinct.<br />
<br />
Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-15366531544967114912011-11-23T18:47:00.001-08:002011-11-23T19:22:39.646-08:00ThanksgivingStep up and out of the stream<div>
into your authentic chair</div>
<div>
leave the banquet behind your eyelids</div>
<div>
acquiesce to the universe, every pore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tie a string on your thought</div>
<div>
this thread of sincerity</div>
<div>
Tie it quick to the fringes of time</div>
<div>
pregnant with the helium of hope.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Three feathers of a wing </div>
<div>
fly straight through heaven</div>
<div>
into the heart of God. </div>
<div>
Your truth, your humility, your freedom. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You paid no tax for a moment</div>
<div>
No one loved what you knew</div>
<div>
or hated what you need</div>
<div>
For a second, you were nothing but free. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-41618750740853742372011-10-15T20:42:00.000-07:002011-10-15T20:47:33.926-07:00Pending Embers<div>
Some embers catch </div>
<div>
a tailwind to conflagration</div>
<div>
Some embers fade</div>
<div>
like memories of the womb</div>
<div>
Jesus and his seed,</div>
<div>
the sower of truth. </div>
<div>
Save one seed he forgot;</div>
<div>
the seed in stasis. </div>
<div>
The seed </div>
<div>
in </div>
<div>
stasis.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was the comfort </div>
<div>
that became uncomfortable.</div>
<div>
It was the money </div>
<div>
that became a liability.</div>
<div>
It was the sacrifice </div>
<div>
that</div>
<div>
that</div>
<div>
became nothing more than </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
sacrifice</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If I were caught in amber...</div>
<div>
In amber, I had fought</div>
<div>
An amber of half light </div>
<div>
lived in a lens without life.</div>
<div>
Static golden light. </div>
<div>
Honey without sweet</div>
<div>
might as well be ice. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It is the ember of an old man,</div>
<div>
the ember in an old man,</div>
<div>
The ember of this man,</div>
<div>
the ember in this man.</div>
<div>
The ember in stasis,</div>
<div>
the ember pending.</div>
<div>
ember,</div>
<div>
pending</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
b u r n</div>Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-64290338497664819682011-09-03T19:15:00.000-07:002011-09-04T12:19:55.278-07:00ContagionMy poem is my virus. <br />
I am the parasite. <br />
You are the host. <br />
I violate your membrane<br />
with perverse imagery. <br />
<br />
Your soul is eternal. <br />
Mine is not. <br />
I will leech into you. <br />
I will bleed into you, <br />
all of my DNA. <br />
<br />
All of my relevance<br />
is in this syllable...<br />
What sound do I need to make<br />
to destroy you forever? <br />
What is the rhythm of significance?<br />
<br />
I am as arrogant as a plague. <br />
No effort can sterilize my filth.<br />
This disease is as certain as death<br />
if you have read this this far. <br />
then it is too late. You are too far gone. <br />
<br />
When I die, you will carry me with you<br />
into dense crowds of loved ones, <br />
into temples, into courts and classrooms. <br />
The infection will spread to your tongue. <br />
Your voice. Your sound. <br />
And you have become the parasite. Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-38314350654999958502011-07-16T21:18:00.000-07:002011-07-16T21:18:07.427-07:00Community Supported AgricultureIt was Sunday when <br />
I was kidnapped by bees<br />
and taken into the soil, <br />
told to contemplate my cuticle... <br />
<br />
Contemplate your cubicle<br />
and tell us what's fair,<br />
Loving the myth of the millionaire<br />
of loving the truth in the air? <br />
<br />
Bow down and be low, be among,<br />
be within, be with us, <br />
be in the Earth and love the soil. <br />
Know your food and celebrate.<br />
<br />
Celebrate the simple. <br />
<br />
Damn the fool. Damn the Chief. <br />
Damn the cool. Damn the thief.<br />
Sieze the power of your palate<br />
savor the taste of your ballot.<br />
<br />
Celebrate what is ample<br />
make yourself an example<br />
Love the whole and the real.<br />
Let your neighbor grow your meal.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-56309392865177904432011-07-09T21:16:00.000-07:002011-07-09T21:17:35.659-07:00Patti SmithMy tomboy listens<br />
My girl pouts<br />
Those shadows <br />
beneath her lips. <br />
How open can open be?<br />
As open, as open is she.<br />
One in ten? One in twenty?<br />
Too, too many are set free<br />
without ever an apology.<br />
<br />
See me. See me, see me.<br />
Let me waltz through the lobby.<br />
Announce my arrival.<br />
Be my Siren and blare <br />
a triumph, a secret, our love.<br />
love me love me love me <br />
My tomboy. My siren. <br />
(my secretest secret wish...shhhh)<br />
<br />
Homosexual molecules loiter <br />
somewhere on the horizon.<br />
Needles march a cadence.<br />
Black cards dispersed into the galaxy.<br />
It is a sinister tarot<br />
that tells me to take fifty dollars<br />
and let a man take me,<br />
and put a needle in my arm <br />
to win your sympathy. <br />
So, let my head fall into your lap<br />
brush my hair and hum me a tune.<br />
I know...<br />
Middle class white boys need not apply. <br />
<br />
Yours is a passion that rides whitecaps<br />
Mine is one that rides the undertow<br />
Middle class white boys dance<br />
to revolution songs<br />
"The night is made for lovers"<br />
I danced barefoot to Gloria. <br />
If, if, if only that dance led back <br />
to Patti...<br />
my tomboy. My tomboy who listens.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-86819671091104377382011-05-21T21:05:00.000-07:002011-07-09T21:20:00.852-07:00RamblingRambling like bittersweet<br />
At our garden wall<br />
In peppermint air <br />
Beyond electric bees<br />
Out of a campfire’s spit<br />
Beneath lilac and lavender<br />
Within a grape’s dew<br />
Among the outsiders<br />
Inside the world of us<br />
Between the in-betweens<br />
Under nebulae, novae and galaxies<br />
<br />
Rambling like bittersweet<br />
Over our garden wall<br />
After all these thoughts<br />
Beyond a halcyon dream<br />
Alongside peace on parade<br />
Across a forest stream<br />
Amid soldiers marching in socks <br />
Toward the tug of you <br />
Near me in our us land<br />
Despite the clutter of images<br />
Past the rush of nouns and verbs<br />
I’m back. <br />
<br />
(written for One Single Impression Prompt #169: Rambling)<br />
<a href="http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/"></a>Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-44078547202895134912011-05-07T21:37:00.000-07:002011-07-09T21:22:21.555-07:00LoveUnbroken smooth between before after<br />
bruises bashes and shatters<br />
Beyond humid shocking kisses rather <br />
a cool lasting that matters. <br />
<br />
You are the one safe place I know. <br />
<br />
Fingertip gravity cheeks to lips<br />
Returning coming going and home<br />
Never leaving steadfast praying grips<br />
the exploding expanse of a poem. <br />
<br />
You are what I will never give up. <br />
<br />
Arlington to Golgotha, offices to factories<br />
Shoulder in, eyes forward, chin up<br />
Quiet unspoken shared stories<br />
lingering lost ring of a coffee cup. <br />
<br />
You are my favorite ghost.<br />
<br />
(written for One Single Impression)<br />
http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-55795673181301411192011-04-03T16:06:00.000-07:002011-04-03T16:06:15.204-07:00Downy WoodpeckerSkitter scatter and scratch<br />
Stop to tap, tap and tap<br />
Poke, peak and tap. <br />
Tap, tap and tap. <br />
Divine persistence will pay<br />
little feathered brother<br />
tap tap tap tap tap <br />
Divine persistence will pay<br />
that's what the Earth will say<br />
Keep it up, keep searching<br />
Keeping wanting and wishing<br />
tap tap, and tap<br />
skitter and scratch. <br />
Good luck will come your way.<br />
<br />
Yours is a feathered faith. <br />
You are faith covered in feather<br />
skittering about on a tree. <br />
That's a faith like mine like ours<br />
A scrambling faith <br />
A searching faith. <br />
faith that clings to bark<br />
faith depending on what lies beneath<br />
faith that could fly <br />
but lands back beneath the branches<br />
above the ground but below the sky<br />
Suspended. <br />
<br />
I n l i m b o<br />
<br />
faith from HUNGER and hungry <br />
Faith that flickers out of view. <br />
flickers into view<br />
out of view. <br />
Panic calls and peace presides. <br />
just like my feathered brother <br />
the downy woodpecker.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-22856460641654735432011-02-26T19:34:00.000-08:002011-02-26T19:37:52.195-08:00PicklesBread on the counter<br />
Mayonnaise spread<br />
Cucumbers suspended<br />
Green,green aquarium...with<br />
salty green vinegar cloves<br />
bouncing and teasing...<br />
(and my mouth is watering).<br />
RAYMOND! <br />
Grandma is spent, <br />
She's a flapper <br />
Jars aren't jazz<br />
and her Grandchildren are wanting.<br />
Pickles are pucker. <br />
Our cheeks know it. <br />
If only Grandpa could...<br />
POP! Goes the top.<br />
Grandpa is strong.<br />
Will I ever be like him?<br />
<br />
Posted for One Single Impression "Top"<br />
http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-16436814922545361732011-02-01T08:51:00.000-08:002011-02-01T09:01:45.916-08:00Bury Me In TurquoiseEvening was spying from the apple orchard<br />
the first time I opened my eyes<br />
under Great-Grandma's turquoise afghan<br />
I heard my parents dancing in the kitchen. <br />
<br />
A little later, Grandma would announce evening<br />
across the yards to end our game<br />
one out, two on and the inning was over<br />
in a dash to clean our hands before Grace. <br />
<br />
Evening became an exotic land; <br />
the home of sex and sin and petty vandalism<br />
to be invaded by silly boys armed with hormones<br />
looking for something pretty to hold on to. <br />
<br />
Evening starts when I put my briefcase down.<br />
We share it with the salad bowl and laughter.<br />
It is the safest place I know <br />
in our golden little home. <br />
<br />
The sound of evening is in my daydreams<br />
in the muttering of its nightclub clientele<br />
beneath a boozy saxophone and cocktail clinks.<br />
It sounds like sequins and purple. <br />
<br />
Evening will wait outside the church<br />
when my son carries me on his shoulder<br />
past the bagpiper and into St. Rose's.<br />
Bury me in turquoise and strike up the band.<br />
<br />
(this poem was written for the "One Single Impression Prompt #153: Evening")<br />
<a href="http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/2011/01/prompt-153-evening.html"></a>Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-45900563729126471142011-01-30T17:36:00.000-08:002011-01-30T17:40:26.726-08:00IntrovertIt's the shadow of this thought <br />
into which I've fallen. <br />
This well of plots and characters<br />
left unwritten.<br />
Thank you for the nudge <br />
but I don't remember meeting you<br />
Oh! Yes, we made love so sorry<br />
it's the shadow of this thought <br />
through which a vision of you must swim.<br />
Now I remember the taste of your skin.<br />
Please take your place among the cast<br />
as I step away and fall <br />
And fall <br />
And fall away. <br />
I forgot to pay this bill? Sorry. <br />
It's this shadow of this thought <br />
into which I've fallen.<br />
Chasing a naked girl<br />
Correcting an injustice to make it right.<br />
Sinned? Me? No, just walking and thinking<br />
in a world of gray or into a world of citrus<br />
and thinking<br />
and thinking away. <br />
Maybe we met when I knew your name<br />
and you mattered in that moment<br />
but my heart beats in the shadow of my skull<br />
making you suspicious of me. <br />
I know<br />
and I know which way<br />
the world turns toward the bright<br />
and the loud, leaving the rest to live in shadows.<br />
Doubly darkened by the shadow of our thoughts. <br />
Have we met once before?<br />
Taste me and let me know.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-80793050700593104852010-11-26T14:42:00.000-08:002010-11-26T14:42:26.306-08:00SpectrumBang on the ground and clang in the sky,<br />
Ringing ragged rash, pimpled up sizzle.<br />
Singing salient, singeing brilliant, baked us dead dry.<br />
<br />
Southern citrus and succulent sun,<br />
Syrupy sweet popped down drizzle<br />
Enveloping tongue, puckered pout; your sweet fun.<br />
<br />
Morning’s cheer applauding, “Awake!”<br />
Sheer chiffon pursed, wanted kiss.<br />
Gauzy glamour, breezy and bright; my loving ache. <br />
<br />
Glamorous cool glade shaded, heavy and dark,<br />
Gaia’s fauns governing the afternoon bliss. <br />
Teeming tendrils teasing the feathers of our nubile lark. <br />
<br />
High brittle flight across the chilled glass bright.<br />
Aloof and aloft, trillions of dead backs turned this way. <br />
Squinted up and bowed down; our tearful plight. <br />
<br />
Sultry dangerous hips swaying suggesting sin<br />
Buried under a million nights and one candle’s wax<br />
Pouring over shoulders, into veins, through your skin. <br />
<br />
Royal regal voices pour from a saxophone’s bell<br />
Berry juices bleeding from spring’s best snacks<br />
Demure shrug shoulder, winked my knowing and willing tell.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-17810745623788543682010-10-23T19:16:00.000-07:002010-10-23T19:17:49.777-07:00FootballKickoff. <br />
A high arc spiral from father to son<br />
Across fallen fluttering leaves.<br />
Wishes. Encouragements. Settlements. <br />
You zip your jacket against the cold. <br />
<br />
Second quarter.<br />
Bulldogs dig into New Haven mud;<br />
A plastic thock of pad-to-pad. <br />
Handsome Dan charms the cheerleaders.<br />
The underclassmen sell hot chocolate.<br />
<br />
Halftime.<br />
Aunts bake turkeys while grandfathers gloat<br />
Brothers pout and sisters strut <br />
The Coach bellows “Dedication!”<br />
Cranberry prayers in breathy fog. <br />
<br />
Third quarter. <br />
A pimpled pigskin bloated,<br />
Too tight for your grip to toss<br />
And violate November’s taught linen. <br />
Bands in the stands press the party on. <br />
<br />
Fourth Quarter.<br />
Hands are held, cheers sent up. <br />
Flags waved, pennants folded. <br />
Hearts are wrapped in flannel.<br />
Our silly love is suspended in an icy milk sky. <br />
<br />
In summer; we worshipped near naked bodies.<br />
Gods that sprint over the clay.<br />
Come autumn, we’ve grown burly, <br />
Tossing our Giants into the fray. <br />
We wish for shoulders to lean into the wind. <br />
We speak of war, we plan for the worst...<br />
<br />
Football is a New England game.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-1065489246852614372010-09-25T21:59:00.000-07:002010-09-25T21:59:14.046-07:00The Ego and The SkyFall tosses summer’s heavy breath,<br />
With a cantaloupe syrup,<br />
That blankets your tongue<br />
Its sweet chill tightens your throat<br />
And tosses your head back, <br />
So flare your nostrils into the wind<br />
Let your corneas catch those pinpricks of life<br />
That escapes the Universal coal. <br />
Life begins at the soles of your feet<br />
And sings in the swing of your hips<br />
Extend… <br />
Extend, <br />
Extend! <br />
And your soul remains in your shoes<br />
Under the weight of your terminal calendar.<br />
<br />
Wear bells and anklets and clack castanets<br />
Roll and whirl, grind and swirl<br />
Be tawny vellum taunting <br />
Be sweaty and sweet wanting<br />
Needing validations from fingers dancing<br />
Over goose flesh, hair and underwear. <br />
Be exhausted and spent <br />
Draped across your lover<br />
And when you step on to the porch<br />
Jupiter will wink<br />
Reach…<br />
Reach, <br />
Reach!<br />
And you’ll never poke Saturn <br />
And set its rings spinning like dinner plates.<br />
<br />
We are atoms of God<br />
Made to be mulch <br />
And made to be sung<br />
Dancing our dances<br />
In fanciful unison.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-56781811476164336442010-09-04T23:16:00.000-07:002010-09-04T23:16:52.664-07:00New England SeasonOur New England season was warned to us.<br />
It was rumored in the smoke of August’s barbecue.<br />
And slipped from underneath a mulch pile. <br />
<br />
Our burly season sits in a weave of rag wool<br />
It whispers to us in hot cider steam<br />
And rides on hay bales behind a tractor.<br />
<br />
Our flannel season rests on corn field stubble. <br />
It stretches before us in shadows over gnarly bark <br />
And hides beneath dry fractured crunch. <br />
<br />
Our crashing season simpers in crumbling leaves<br />
It rushes, crushes and crinkles ahead of each step<br />
And blushes like pumpkins on your cheek. <br />
<br />
Our hand holding season snags the breath of a waterfall<br />
It wishes for hot chocolate, pie, and turkey<br />
And rides on the tail of a red tailed hawk. <br />
<br />
Our learning season rings its bell in pale grey linoleum<br />
It is a wide open bulletin board populated by thumb tacks<br />
And leaks out of your new backpack. <br />
<br />
Our gravestone rubbing season chaps your lips<br />
It knits charcoal in feathers with breezes<br />
And glistens like sugar and sap.<br />
<br />
Our Autumn reminds me to say I love you. <br />
Our Autumn reminds me to bundle up. <br />
Our Autumn reminds me to rake. <br />
Our Autumn reminds me it is our New England season.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-89026729407748805202010-08-07T23:00:00.001-07:002010-08-07T23:34:23.136-07:00Homecoming GameSandy said Orange and I thought Blue<br />
Homecoming colors and aluminum bleachers<br />
She saw the promise of infinite change <br />
And I saw the Danbury High School Hatters<br />
Sandy said Orange and I remember<br />
Ridiculously hot cocoa and an aluminum chill<br />
Cable knit sweaters and army wool blanket<br />
She saw the future and an infinite thrill.<br />
I wondered what is now and she wanted what will.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-30989482835946046802010-08-01T12:24:00.000-07:002010-11-08T07:07:23.787-08:00PeacePeace reverberates in the rattle of a cat’s purr<br />
It slips between the dust dancing in a shaft of sunlight<br />
(The one you played with in your Grandmother’s dining room)<br />
Peace expands with each beat of your heart <br />
to canvas your town with a blanket of your best intentions. <br />
It is a whisper from your soul to your best friend’s ear. <br />
<br />
Peace is ego. It is self-important and satisfied. <br />
It is the sum of crumbs on a plate<br />
And the notch of a belt loosened. <br />
Peace knows where it is going<br />
So well that it never needs to leave. <br />
It does not doubt. <br />
<br />
Peace lands on your skin with the impact of a snowflake<br />
It is delivered with a lover’s touch<br />
And infects you with a long, languid implosion. <br />
Peace throws a leg from under the covers<br />
And over the side of the bed. <br />
It leaves its clothing on the bedroom floor. <br />
<br />
Peace chooses its orbit and watches from above<br />
It is patient and waits for an invitation<br />
Peace is passive as it witnesses our wars. <br />
It is a pedestrian waiting at the crosswalk<br />
It knows the traffic will break <br />
when it will slip into the street and dance across the asphalt.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6207945783807990775.post-89415053321113530072010-07-18T17:29:00.000-07:002010-07-18T17:29:34.840-07:00Capture SummerWhen midnight flips<br />
And the stars stare disapprovingly<br />
Grip your elbows, bundle your sweater <br />
And start toward the porch. <br />
<br />
Summer slips over your teeth<br />
on the lick of a mussel.<br />
Cat tails salute that sinful sun.<br />
You stare into a fistful of sand…<br />
<br />
Four hundred fossils… <br />
Long Island Sound reclaims its history <br />
from your hand in a billow of surrender. <br />
and drags you toward Christmas. <br />
<br />
Twelve years of five and dimes<br />
leave you yearning for notebooks and pens,<br />
stiff jeans and the plastic smell of sneakers.<br />
Your mother worries; it’s a new bus route. <br />
<br />
August blares in cicadas’ incessant drone. <br />
Taste Autumn in the smoke of a charcoal grill <br />
Summer is as slippery as sweat<br />
And as evasive as shade at a family picnic.Haven Fairfieldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11028617814529193974noreply@blogger.com1