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