aMan Bloom Poems

low shuffling signals the passage on my street of cows

up from the village green this evening, a field for football that they keep trim
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Let’s talk about beings made of light, the light beings.

Though they have no use for what we value…
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WATCHING PIGEONS FLYING.
A LEAF FALLS FROM A TREE.
DROPS OF RAIN STAIN THE PAVEMENT.
THE SUN IS HIDDEN BY A CLOUD.
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You can do anything you want.
You can wear brown socks with black shoes.
You can match plaid with stripes, or wear chartreuse,
Lay salty lox on chocolate cake; fry, not bake…
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I make a wrong turn
She is there
I take my jacket off
He is there
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Why am I angered by her sweet words?
Is it that she must find external meaning in wonder?
That she insists on religiously anthropomorphizing nature,
its beauty and its creatures,
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He’d never built a house before
But I was new and couldn’t tell
watched him big trees fell and awaited my chores
with bright delight. Stainless-steel shank
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Thinking of never-again being,
Never seeing a tree
Or hive of bees in a tree
Being eaten, bee by bee, by a
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Some poems to explore, he sort of liked them and wanted 50 more,
Suggested I follow the narrative path when I came back.
Next year of my novel he said even Joyce wrote plots.
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“Like giving an after-dinner mint to a dead man’s heartache, ”
a line came drifting in and settled in my mind,
after falling asleep to Camus.
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