Neeli Cherkovski
THE WIND ODE
wind whines like a newborn
embers fly
air as Catholic as you might
want it to be
strewn with cut glass
take a moment
up the neck of a cliff
pine tears and torn bark
angels living on bed of sonnets
under hillsides
folded
like Japanese paper
wind whips banners
in a Samurai film
hello to dark walls
of space
we pace
when asleep
rapid clouds
taste the wind
on a butte, rattler
and doe
tallied in the doldrums
of prophetic mind
go for it, go for dust and fine
pine needles smacked
by wind-driven spire
needle in time
dressed for battle
talkative birds
widening their grip
on space, distant cone of air
embracing old brown
gods (wind and sound, salt
and silence)
by the throat, caught and held
wind rushing out of Bluejay
and the small lake
rude wind in the bar
where shadow men drink Scotch
on a blur evening
the wind rushing from stool to stool
old Clark
large and angry
goes to take a leak
in the dark toilet
wind, wind, rolls out of me
and is lost
but let the plants bloom
over the spreading wind, bam!
spirit, leaver us alone, we have
no idea of glory, no idea of our mortal
selves, spring opens to a ripple
of light
wind dallies a moment, then goes
driving to the scars
of hysteria,
we who are born
to be careful, not careless, with simple
words
from the clouds
suspended on the air
ILLUSION BIRD
the illusion bird flies
into my garden without
advance warning,
properly dressed
“Give me the freedom
to chirp,” she tells formidable
trees in the northern edge
of the garden, years ago
when she first came
the trees were small
we had a clothesline
where trunks now tower
Mister Johnson was
still alive, he would lean
over his fence and
tell me, “bullshit, man,
the whole ball of wax
is bullshit,” he smoked
Camels from dawn
till sundown, the bird
sprinkled moonricj
on his head
when the ambulance came
I watched as Johnson’s body was
carted away
Ruth Leonard
is my name” said the bird
as the attendants left
Andover Street for Cortland Avenue,
the illusion bird followed
eons have spoken,
death and his siblings gather
my garden hose is a snake on the ground,
“It’s all bullshit,”
but it works for short distances
the bird is here
again, she knows me, she
brings a twig
from God knows where
I’ve gone gray in my heart
and sold the cravings of my art
to the great library across the bay
Ruth Leonard rooted
to the skies, she has eternal wisdom
in shadows of the muse
14 Dec 2017
AUTUMN
For Jesse
another Autumn
gathers seed, so soon
we grow old
in the face of it
browned eucalyptus l
and multitudinous sorrows
remain long after
the storm has insinuated
itself, it may be when
the blackbird calls
you will have given up
and gone into hiding, no more
heavy drinking, no more
cigarettes
long-gone Autumn,
I press my lips to a dark red
brick down in the coolness
of the garden, and
think of abandoned dreams
littered in an alley
Autumn never sings,
Autumn rips the mask
off your face,
Autumn terrorizes
Orpheus struggles
to remain alert, opens
a new path
come home Sebastian
leave these fears to decompose
and let the flight of birds
continue over spruce
and shallow ponds,
devastation follows you
rake the leaves
into one pile under
the branches of our
lemon tree, rake until
the sun takes pity
on the scene
UNLOVELY BEAUTY
unlovely beauty
of the dead star
hanging around
before the division
called old world
new world
unlucky light
of the star, odd distribution
of blame, white moth
dead moth, unspooled
mantle frail conquest
of the old word
by a new one
unscrew the bulb
lock the door and
put up a no trespassing
sign at the garden gate
to keep the strangers
from abusing the plants
and destroying
the green benches
what is beauty? does
it exist? is a mortal thing
beautiful, ever? are you
ever beautiful? if you are
devoured by clover
where is your beauty?
Nov 2017
I GAVE YOU
I gave you my trees
and then I had none
I sold you the breeze
and hid in the sun
you spoke a sont
of wisdom’s denial
then said I was wrong
to float down the Nile
way past town
I left for the pier
folks gather round
in celestial fear
SOME CHARNEL DREAMS
some charnel dreams I did not mean
to impose
awakening in slant morning sun rays
drawing pictures on
the window shades
the roses at the window
will not roll over and become immortal
we find them
in the aisles
as Joie dies so sweet and slender
we send her a bunch of flowers
dreams condemn us
to put our faith in an all-consuming
intellect impervious to tantrums
we beat on drums
star systems remain fixed
I waken and adjust shades
so warmth covers the bed
it is good to lay under that light
for a time before walking
in the splendid forest touching
colorful birds petting a doe
some of the dreams
imitate real life
and stream through my cerebral
fault line
to the house of the Great Odes
where a master appears
dropping his rake
and throwing his open arms
around my shoulders
Dec 23 2017