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Warren Falcon
Warren Falcon New York, NY / United States, Male, 62
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Warren Falcon's last comments on poems and poets

  • POET: David Bottoms (4/7/2014 2:06:00 PM)

    Synchronicity this a.m. when finding your poem Kelly Sleeping in my inbox via Poem-A-Day of poets.org and then open Poemhunters here and see your name on the list of just published poems on the site. Moved by the Kelly Dreaming poem I shared it on my Facebook page...and now there are all these to read and savor. The title alone of In A U-Haul North of Damascus evokes or is a poem all by itself. Happy to have discovered your work. All the best.

  • POEM: Whatever It Is, A Mariner's Tale by Warren Falcon (7/13/2013 1:49:00 PM)

    How interesting Goodfew that you see distress in this poem...it is actually a love poem which is a very real kind of stress. This poem derives from actual fact of two people, once were lovers when much much younger then broke up, ensuing marriages in between and consequent divorces and then years later meeting again, looking at old photographs when they were lovers in the Caribbean, she playing a Martin, singing angelically, and he sailing a sailboat teaching her the names and ways of sails and such...the fear of trying love again yet age and loneliness compelling a Yes, Let's Try in them both...

    So, yes, stress. Risking the heart again in much older age after a life history of risks and more breaking...

  • POEM: 3 AM Kingfisher Sonata by Warren Falcon (7/7/2013 7:03:00 PM)

    Bri, The poem's voice is that of an aging gay man. It is a missive to a dear friend, a woman in Spain (Dear Barcelona) a gypsy woman dark, carved, desert valley and mountain, beads, bangles, old too but full of duende...the old man is giving account of Desire, still there, the way Desire is preserved in memory and eyes still capable of hunger and prayer, and of the stark realities of an aging body, the inward turn of beauty through gritted teeth and rock hard resolve to feed the roses in the neighbor's yard in honor of the faded looks, the body parts that no longer work which once drove the entire vehicle of a young man's life and what he thought to be love. Believe it or not it is a Buddhist poem in that Desire is the theme and the wisdom wrung from both requited and unrequited passion and love comes with brine and the green of spleen....there are allusions to sad young men turned into sad old men but not without laughter, not without wisdom, not without a hard grace arrived behind the eyes and the heart. He recalls the bodies, dark skinned, of the young jovens (young men) , the lovers, the landscape they became to discover secret aspects of himself and all men no matter their desires for whatever sex or part of the flower, the stamen or the petals. The emulsions, the liquids, the smells, tastes, the odors and the raw animal-human unrevealed in passion unveiling the depth of Nature and conscious homage-reverence of him/all ourselves as such.

    The Kingfisher bird is associated to resurrection...thus the old man makes his Sonata, late night,3 am, home from the bar, rising again in bittersweet flight: Watchman, what of the night?

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