Rhonda
Robison
in the beginning
winter.
this fruit and flower
kingdom
frozen in black shadows
only the compost
is alive here
the fire
the dog
the man
this white oak
its lover forever
in dance
this waltz
of winter leaves
spring.
familes in cars
unpacking cameras
from their trunks
blue coats
khaki pants
pink-ribboned girls
with ruffled underpants
the boy with chocolate
egg-stuff staining
his sunday shirt
a mother with white gloves
images of the azalea garden
on the mantels
of their memory-junk
summer.
sixty-watt sun-white
the man turns compost
the salt of his sweat
flavors the coffee-ground
turkey from last thanksgiving
now green and growing
plum and fig
melon and onion
this garlic-scented summer
he eats without
and calls the birds by name
fall.
fifty stacks
of precisely
split wood
falling
she comes again.
this fruit
this flower
the dog
the man
the woman
the garden
the wood
burning
dead lines
for
buddy robison
the shovel digs into the page
an ink-clot. a blocked heart.
a flat-line
of forgotten words
you were begotten
to forgotten words
you shall return
as men cover the casket
in decayed language uncovered
the evening before
above your grave
and others
before you
a hummingbird feeds on the
nectar
of dead flowers
travel poems
one.
on
the ledge
(of the grand canyon)
a damn tour-bus of tourists talking
at once in foreign languages
laughing
in the same
cacophony of hawks
squawking
balking over
some fur-squirming prize
falling in frames
frozen faster than
the followof feathers
thathollow
down
two.
this land is your land
(a road trip)
from lafayette louisiana
to the outer banks of north
carolina:
mcdonald'sburger kingcracker
barrelwalmart
mcdonald'sburger kingcracker
barrelwalmart
mcdonald's burger king cracker
barrel walmart
mcdonald'sburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmart
mcdonald'sburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonald'sburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmart
mcdonald'sburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonald'sburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmart
mcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburgerkingcrackerbarrelwalmartmcdonaldsburger
miles davis’ aura
you play orange-drip popsicles
ourtoes dipping sunset
dripping cool lava shadows on
carpet
trumpet of curls
spill from pillow to yellow
candles burning lemon
grass
green smoke forest rituals
mortar and pestle herbs
in an alchemist’s kitchen
lull of blue
finger blur conducting
fallingmeldingcoming
indigo windows
birds purple
the blue-violet night
sending down trills
otherworld
(the walls of his room)
escher-illusive
table or street
imaginever changing
hands drawing themselves
instrange
contemplations
he sees the relationship
between him
self and me
before him
i am the one
sketched beyond the lines
in the waterfall's rise
holding his
reflection
after him
the aim of science
a meager foothold away
from the swell
of watery chaos
he explored
by candlelight
at twelve
convinced that creation’s
solutions lay beneath
new york's bustle
he bulged with anticipation
above a swirl of discovery
in a neighbor's basement
his earliest explosion exposed
the underlying desire
from which he now comes
to new conclusions
consistently
though his theory
remains rooted
in the big bang
(the walls of his room)
otherworld
escher-illusive
table or street
imaginever changing
hands drawing themselves
instrange
contemplations
he sees the page
between him
self and me
before him
i am the one
sketched beyond the lines
in the caught rise
holding his
reflection
after him
writing into a harvest moon
in summer lightning
one of god's balls
hangs ahead of her
through a black overcoat of
sky
to floor
driving towardit
yielding to the
temptation to grasp
something beyond human
proportion
she resists
extended duration of thought
stops the vehicle
beyond the page ofperceptions
beyond where her muse
feeds her orange words
smooth fingers of lightning
stroke the off-color moon
she opens her mouth
to swallow the rain
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This site designed and maintained by The Creative Writing
Concentration of the English Department of the University of Louisiana at
Lafayette.
To contact us by mail: Director of Creative Writing, English
Department, Box 44691, UL-Lafayette, Lafayette LA 70504-4691; by telephone,
337-482-5478;
by email, jlm8047@louisiana.edu.
Last updated: May 1, 2001.