Monday, March 29, 2010

Give me the Horn,Rain,today and After the Flood by Paula Jones

Give me the Horn

Keep your long wooden necks

and your nylon strings.

Throw your thin sticks to the sky.

Leave the cymbals tight-lipped,

toss the triangle, snap the bow.

Give me the horn-

pucker up and blow.

Press lips to the smooth brass

and blast your way through.

Let breath become throat

become mouth and song.

Purr the smooth black silk

of a single spoken word.

Scream like a wildcat

on a brick-faced wall.

Grieve the tears of a woman

in the close-throated night.

Pack away your flimsy reeds-

the new hero is horn.

Shine him with your sleeve,

finger his strong metal bones.

But mostly, let him dance

in the click of your heel.

Rain, today

They said it wouldn’t rain today,

the man on the tv told me;


and smugly dressed.

They said it wouldn’t rain today,

but here it is;

as slow and thin

as memory,

as light as a sigh.

The dogs pace the

cold wooden floors,

whistling their discontent

through flared nostrils.

They said it wouldn’t rain today,

I tell the dogs,

watching my boots by the back door

fill up with rain,

and your limp shirt on the line.

The birds have left the sky

though I hear them calling still.

They said it wouldn’t rain today

but here it is

cold as kisses

warm as blood.

After the Flood

Laughter like a winter creek

sadness like a flood

I'm crying you a swollen river

bursting banks

tonguing cheeks

I'm filling up the belly

with this brackish overflow

brimming the cup

spilling the milk

tipping the ink

And this dark perfume

rotten, peeling bark

where once we lemon-sipped

Sink like a soul

made of smooth stone

and the sound, the sound

like a faraway kiss