Footsteps Of The Earth Whale
At dusk my sweet faces cook on blood-shot shores,
the trees swing and are boys and are thirsty like I am.
Thunder and the lamp of other language
follows the scented harvest of a disabled shadow.
Cows skinny into coyotes, crickets suck in their guts,
a crop farmer loads a shotgun and stills his porch
where the stove and his Clarabelle move the kitchen aside
to look out at her dog and remember the man next to him.
I am taught of the safety of being alive, of women
and kitchens watching blue-eyed dogs fall into black seas,
but I know of the blindspot too, of its many whistles that blow,
where God hides and shivers in withdrawal, where I put myself away.
These strangers have followed me from a grade school graveyard
to a funeral mass coat closet where you reach into a breast-pocket
and read to my crowd my bloated eyes pinned back by rented cufflinks.
They smile and cry when I'm over
and pour whiskey for the trees
and I begin to grow.
So bright the mercy of an opiate highway
and loud the guilt of suns I swallowed,
so easy the making of a stranger
and the birth of voice torn free by talons.
At dusk my sweet faces were served in asterisk dippers.
John Courtney's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Footsteps Of The Earth Whale by John Courtney )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- The Silent Rebel (baby!), Fie KroC
- The Book Tree Forest, mary douglas
- My Grandfather in Broadmoor, Little Rock.., mary douglas
- We are ALL Broken, with a Capital F, Monk E. Biz
- 'The Fallen Angel', Wolfie Scott
- Impressions of Garcia-Lorca on the Piano.., mary douglas
- PATIENCE, Stanley Oguh
- Last Words of A Dying Poet, Monica Lanier
- Wabi Sabi, wabi sabi
- Papier Mache, How Lovely Was the World, mary douglas