Treasure Island

Warren Falcon

(04/23/52 - xxxx / Spartanburg, South Carolina, USA)

Two Poems, Remembering Barnardsville Days, Blue Ridge Mountains, North Carolina


1

Uses For Wings - Variations From 'We Can Be Broken' & Other Discarded Poems

'It means so much that we can be broken.' - from an early poem,1978

for Tien Ho, departed,
and Michael carving
the empty space
of her leaving still


*

Here is a Presence beyond
illicit fires bearing witness
to evidence, remains of flight,
contrived escapes blocked by panes,
walls striped in ramming panic,
of ritual and a broken neck,
petrified wings placed in open
spaces they once could range.


*

I began


a bird flown down a chimney
dying in an empty house,
a hidden mountain valley,
night time fires upon surrounding
hills, moonshine stills signaling
flame warnings, bootleggers' silent
spirits conjuring drip by drip
metal and grain.


*

Here are uses for wings:


something returning,
or turning inward


eventually climbed,
rested upon,


or fallen to some chimney life.


*

Descending the hill in unplanned rehearsal,
what has become a destined association,
our mutual confession is invisibly drawn.

A ruined one-room church appears,
a cemetery plot weed-hidden behind this
once sentinel house long remote to men,
as present as God. My own presence is bound
to his who stands confounded now as three,
one above grave, one within it, and me
in between, one eye upon him, the other
upon sagging dirt where bones and a
ragged shirt share an unexpected
moment of veils confused in sunlight's
disarray of leaves, wood, of stone and
shadows frozen there, not breathing
for us all in unstoried astonishment.

Here horseflies feast.
Upon weathered stones
are only creases for once were
names, dates, even God's Word,
chiseled by a now unknown hand,
an impression only, one among many,
reduced to no plot but that of Providence
left to surmise swatting at Eucharistic
flies proving only flesh and only blood,
a flood of questions eventually exhaled,
and exhaling still, waiting beside
a white rock with wings,
ignoring fires,

leaning into changes.


2

What Is Revealed Side-By-Side

....recalling Barnardsville days
in the Blue Ridge, North Carolina


1

Silent, side-by-side, reading.
An occasional 'hear this then. '

Read aloud, words, bread, jam;
familiar tarnished knives spreading;

wedding set, grandmother's, all hands
forget intent on feeding, reading to each
gathered mouth.

Heads nod agreement.
Backs of hands and books
as napkins. Smiles all
around.


2 - What Is Read Out Loud

Beneath witnessed wheels
dancing stars gather stones at dusk,
pockets fill climbing World Tree to


apogee


then downward turn,
stones flung low to dawn,
that largest sun stumbles
alone to blue, screaming,

I WANT A WOMAN

heat enough to reveal morning's dove-blind croon,
burnt crow, having no use for light, missing
a leg, perches hard against solar winds.

Sun's call, different as bird and star, discloses.


3

What is revealed:

the mouse in the hole who loves the hole.

how the serpent's tail shimmers when tossed
out the door -

BE GONE

how one has learned to shake the sheet,
the pants, the socks, the heel-worn boots
before the getting-into, the putting on,

for even a snake loves a warm bed,
a pillow for its head - found once a
skin shed on my flower patterned
pillowcase, fleecy lambs forever silently
bleat as the cloth thins slowly slowly
from head wear, dream wear

because I was once a sleeping man.

Submitted: Sunday, August 21, 2011
Edited: Friday, October 21, 2011

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