Todd Garland

Todd Garland Poems

1.

1.
Poems are daemons to exorcized—
things without names, unthings named.
Poems lurk in primordial sea— the deathmute
...

Sleep’s statistical clutters quicken
desiderata of schedules wanting—
hegemony from standings trumpeting
triumph and trophy consummating…
...

What if my name was Marco Fluno?
What if I drank a flagon of ouzo?
What if I flew to the moon’s o’Juno?
Would you go with me then?
...

mollify
light ignite
hunger moon
all is night
...

5.

Abed, waterbed, childbed, seabed,
sickbed, riverbed, roadbed, streambed,
hotbed, flatbed, featherbed, deathbed,
daybed, trundle bed, embed, test bed,
...

Haunted…floor frequented,
my mother is dying...
alone all by herself.
...

A stony eve at the Bedlam Ball,
An ursine scene entrancing,
As all about the charnel hall
The bears they were a dancing.
...

When we who dream in subtle greens,
awaken to the black of things—
a smile upon a faceted mask,
cries within the simple breast.
...

The Child is the Father of the Man
And I wish my days could be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
___Ode: Intimations of Immortality from
...

10.

Would you eschew what a shoe might construe?
Does it sound from its sole, task with its tongue,
is there puppetry where its strings are strung?
Do its eyes cast evil, is its heel well-heeled,
...

Beneath a hill top aerie—a paradise
of bachelors bound in a nut shell—
Hall Boulevard begins its morning stir.
Cars hiss and swash the wet black
...

The Best Poem Of Todd Garland

Poems

1.
Poems are daemons to exorcized—
things without names, unthings named.
Poems lurk in primordial sea— the deathmute
abortion of fears mothered phantoms;
her strangled penumbral writhings,
unuttered, not invited…forsaken.

2.
Poems are airy spirits invoked—
named things thinged, creation word-bourne.
Poems are the thought-born Athena— a spawnlight
from shadow appearing, I am that
I am affirming— O Brave New Logic,
'that has such people in it'!

3.
Poems are the vanity of Lear—
Is apotheosizing, words that curse.
Poems are the dream of Prospero—
books drowned, a Father sea-changed,
concept and cosmos unconfounded,
re-visioned: 'in the beginning was the deed'.

4.
Poems are the syzygy of shadow and self—
dark things owned, possessions let free.
Poems are nature awakening to itself—
Word become flesh, words, natural breath—
ancient agons atoning, seeing before perishing,
walking this earth together, becoming themselves.

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