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A Whirl with Benjamin
Each tiny poem begins with a phrase taken from “Work” by Benjamin Alire Sáenz
~~ 1 ~~
In any language
it is hard to sustain love
for more than an hour.
~~ 2 ~~
quiet desert nights
unable to free themselves
the stars in their chains
~~ 3 ~~
our hungry questions
crowding an empty table
in a stone-cold cave
~~ 4 ~~
without the river
wrapping her bones as a cape
the chill in her soul
~~ 5 ~~
the labor of hands
lifting a golden chalice
in the sacred haze
~~ 6 ~~
a piece of music
one strain after another
from the wheezing pipes
~~ 7 ~~
Do you say river
with or without an accent?
Do not feign surprise!
~~ 8 ~~
Difficult and dry
are the grasses where we traipse
most Sunday mornings.
~~ 9 ~~
Dream of the river,
deranged and changing its course
on the slightest whim.
~~ 10 ~~
music in silence
savoring filet de boeuf
with a well-aged wine
~~ 11 ~~
It is not the work
of nuns and priests to inflame,
but to cool passions.
~~ 12 ~~
The flowers I sent—
exchange them, if you want to,
for a crown of thorns.
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Poetry Pantry #230
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 190
An Ernest Whirl
Each little breath-of-a-poem begins with a phrase purloined from A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.
~~ 1 ~~
stretch of river bank
near the precipitous cliff—
her quavering heart
~~ 2 ~~
a bleak, windy stretch
with nothing to sustain her
but some cheap red wine
~~ 3 ~~
this cold afternoon
even the pigeons stutter
as they try to coo
~~ 4 ~~
Even the false spring
baffles the chestnut seller
on the rue Ampère.
~~ 5 ~~
pitiful old man
pushing a rickety cart
filled with rotting grapes
~~ 6 ~~
crowded market street—
her longing for fresh scallions
draws her to one stall
~~ 7 ~~
all of the sadness
leaking into her old bones
with the autumn rain
~~ 8 ~~
in the clear sharp wind
crows practising a language
to mock passersby
~~ 9 ~~
a cold windswept street—
running down a flight of stairs
to meet her lover
~~ 10 ~~
saddest part of town—
the absence of a taxi
to whisk her away
~~ 11 ~~
the public bathhouse—
through a rift in the west wall
old men ogling her
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Poetry Pantry #215
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 175
~~ 1 ~~
stretch of river bank
near the precipitous cliff—
her quavering heart
~~ 2 ~~
a bleak, windy stretch
with nothing to sustain her
but some cheap red wine
~~ 3 ~~
this cold afternoon
even the pigeons stutter
as they try to coo
~~ 4 ~~
Even the false spring
baffles the chestnut seller
on the rue Ampère.
~~ 5 ~~
pitiful old man
pushing a rickety cart
filled with rotting grapes
~~ 6 ~~
crowded market street—
her longing for fresh scallions
draws her to one stall
~~ 7 ~~
all of the sadness
leaking into her old bones
with the autumn rain
~~ 8 ~~
in the clear sharp wind
crows practising a language
to mock passersby
~~ 9 ~~
a cold windswept street—
running down a flight of stairs
to meet her lover
~~ 10 ~~
saddest part of town—
the absence of a taxi
to whisk her away
~~ 11 ~~
the public bathhouse—
through a rift in the west wall
old men ogling her
© 2014 by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Poetry Pantry #215
More The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 175
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