Biography of Stug Jordan
Stug Jordan Poems
When can we be lazy? like two dogs, with eyes half open; stretching our legs through the grass, laying; getting almost nothing done.
A Song For The Innocent Loner
A song for the innocent loner, the plough-hand and fish-boner: his slow pipe lowers as he listens
'Was told it wasn't he but was, but promised it was she, was not; they struggled to be we, and just forgot.'
Older body parts are the accessories for littler lives: Older arms are the slings to be carried in; Older legs are the stilts to stalk the earth with; Sometimes an older hip is a convenient seat;
As We Slept
I reached out as we slept, slowly waking finding the bed,
On an august night, a half-rain stumbles glass; the child-bride, in a bruise of love, endures her pain; her eyes obscenities as she cries.
Back Of The Hunched Black House
Back of the hunched black house, a garden’s white water in a slow fountain, a sugar bowl.
He looks my way like a bull: a hungry animal reminds me of his face -
And Adam Said
And Adam said he would prefer To be alone, Anaesthetised on god’s table Before the operation,
Mr. & Mrs.
Just to think how close we came to ill repute by signing off our names, to hold heavy hands in the long corridors of the magistrate’s court; or to have the weaker of the two sold to the vicar,
The Old Scarecrow
Retired from the fields of corn, the old scarecrow stands abandoned on the lawn; old ropes, binding his hands.
Admiring Death From Afar
Admiring death from afar; A bicycle-shape closing On the foot of a hill, Where bird-drawn wings panic
(Sestina for catatonic patient in Ward__) Her eyes insist on seeing shapes beyond the fact her mind no longer cares;
He wakes up to rain on his window, the wash of gutters and drains in the street; an early car starting; the yawn of a garden gate –
There are no more than three of them,
neatly unpicked from the cross-stitch
of a yellow country scene,
three strands of beings, fishing –
and rods arched over the river like
small inadequate bridges,
as they sit against the blue, hatted.
And here and there a shallow sound