HPIM0992.JPGOther Poems are tricky, but as with any thing I see in this world or feel - there is a need, perhaps compulsion, to document: to write it out, to photograph, to take note, even if it hurts like hell.

For me, an archivist, a documentarian, I find that Other Poems holds the work that does not slip easily into other categories, which means that it holds a lot of work, since life, does not stay within the simple confines and structures we would like it to.

Life can be surprising.

s. h. r. p.

updated  | spring 2008 | 7:26 p.m.


photo: trinite, rue st. lazare, paris. fr - "sept heures au matin"

s.r.p. 

 

Tuesday
Sep182007

12.34 p.m.

The last of summer’s persimmon hangs tentatively on the ocean tree.
When last heard your voice echoed through my tears,
soon turned to laughter, this before the heart’s slaughter.
The geese have nosed the fruit about the once-warm grass.
The day I told you about the ocean grey, thick with current,
yet smooth as glass.

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Monday
Sep152014

3/1

There were two, or three

Him, you and me.

All of us jockeying to be loved

to be adored and longed for.

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Tuesday
May092006

a bird in the hand

You tell me, These are dreams and I know that you are right
and I know that you are wrong. In them, I see great holocausts.
If bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, how much then is the worth
of great fires seen only in the palm? Visions of the damned as they rush

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Friday
Aug112006

a private stigmata

The waters are murky. A green pond, pollen-cloaked rich.

Through it all, I seek some clarity.

Some mathematical equation that will dole out the variables –

cut knife-like through the thickness of this moment,

the blade sharp and precise. No such luck.

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Friday
Jun232006

a slow and steady taper

So you want this to end and you do your bit.

So I know this must end and I likewise do my bit.

It is like coming down from some heroin or opiod high

so sweet and soporific – so how to give up such that crosses the brain

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Thursday
Oct262006

a tempered passion

Everyday, I see without seeing –

more or less – more

These days, less.

It's not the less you fear,

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Wednesday
Oct182006

a void | the poet cured

It is raining of course and Wednesday and the sky looms,

Monson slate it drops its heaviness as my car sucks, splashes

through new puddles as I spin fast a route to help.

Help, after all, is what I need.

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Thursday
Oct122006

ainsi-dire - edit

les mains – simply hands. a purpose. they hold up the roof. wipe away a tear. this is all.

miel – honey, you can find it anywhere.

soupir – a sigh. I can’t define. who could? only now it is less quiet – stuck in sorrow.

muette – tongue-tied. yes, this I remain. different now.

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Friday
Nov102006

almost

Almost; one is not satisfied with this.

Almost is perhaps a near miss. Too distant.

It is a word favored by the unsuccessful.

Used by those lacking reasons.

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Sunday
Dec022007

ashes to ashes -

These traintrack abandoned buildings
vacant yards. Only the ailanthus grows.
I remember their fecund, earthy summer scent.
Things change.

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Tuesday
Jul042006

baiser

You tell me you know what it means.

I am one French word up. I, at last, with upper-hand.

A real tease, taquine.

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Tuesday
Jul182006

barley light

Do you remember those fields, how I moved, no -

undulated - beneath you and how the tall reed grass crackled dry beneath our kisses,

how you told me all of my worry, This could never be a sin

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Sunday
Oct152006

begin at the beginning and don't stop until you're finished

How that glass façade has served me well!

I painted it black, hid in the corner behind my dark glasses.

Me – the wise-owl in the corner, observing all.

That is what you saw, then you saw…

I let you in. I removed the black-shades,

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Saturday
Jun032006

being plain

I always wanted to be Amish.

To wear the black with the blue.

To over-clean the wood with Murphy’s oil-soap;

a house that shone bright and a white chin-tie cap

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Wednesday
Jan302008

blank

The day is vacant;
Where you ought be there is only emptiness
this and the howling pain of a sharp stone driven in again and again.
I stumble, I fall, I trip.

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Friday
May092008

blank

The day is vacant;
Where you ought be there is only emptiness
this and the howling pain of a sharp stone driven in again and again.
I stumble, I fall, I trip.
No matter how hard I try to stay steady
I find the feat impossible,

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Wednesday
Mar072007

blue melisma #1

It’s a blue note: a one-two on the trip-slip of the lip

that glides a smooth, silver-flash harmonica–

It is an embellishment. A melisma unnecessary,

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Wednesday
Mar072007

blue melisma #2

It is your two-step slip-slide trick of the tongue: an almost kiss, not quite.

One accepts the conjoined syllables ~ they melt soft as communion in the mouth;

Absolution in your simple, not so simple, words.

I catch on the hooks of each –

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Sunday
Oct152006

bridging the gap | like moving the river

I keep wanting to somehow bridge a gap.

wanting to accept some olive branch,

yet see none forthcoming.

What I see is this: a blank, a continuation, but of what?

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Thursday
Oct192006

by this name you call me | i give no apology

She asks, Are you Amish?

It’s funny this.

My mother told me I was ‘plain.’

In Amish terms though, this entirely different

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