Showing posts with label Henry Flower. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Henry Flower. Show all posts

3.04.2019

May Goulding at her Negus launch




UNFOLDING SHEEP

So the double wheels of the Venn diagram
(a kind of astigmatism from
from Ravenna to home)
mesh in a translated spacetime –

East to West become Rome-Byzantium
Greek to Italian Catholic
Orthodox – majestic
Chartres to homespun NOLA Notre Dame.

I’m working on a bridge, sez Hobo.
Under that nature morte
(Peto, Brown Decades) – what
the flower of liberty became... oh no.

The lilies on the funeral train
(Gould was an engineer).
Abe Lincoln’s here –
great Julius Caesar’s ghastly coin

(one lethal copper penny).
The wheel slowly revolves.
Agony gradually resolves.
The quiet sepulcher (Gesthemane)

became a bargaining chip at the Crusades.
What molts the World-Ruler
from Ides of March to your
sweat-April soul-showers (the blade’s

Excalibur) is some indomitable eagle-
heart – bald as the snowfields
north of International Falls,
wide as the river south of Angola.

                    *

You mark the justice of the refugee,
the accurate perception
of the slave.  Moses-pontoon
or old Italian canoe... it’s simply

the humble carpenter’s sharp eye
encapsulated in a bead
of honey (life’s high meed) –
gold oval of air, its quiddity.

Like throne of Isis in West Branch,
or Grant Wood making space
for Herbie Hoover’s birthplace –
like May Goulding at her Negus launch

(a cup of ceremony from deep
Ethiopia) for Henry Flower
blooming nom-de-plume, your
lambent, flammable, unfolding sheep.

Rhode Island waits for you,
Son of the Evening Star;
little acorn-czar,
your birthday rhymes with Manitou

palladium of shimmering mosaic
merging with river-clay
to meet Oak-Apple Day
for restoration (JFK).  A wake, awake!

It’s Rooster Henry, dusting off
the grave.  It’s everyone
thinking the train’s long gone –
finding an acorn in a hollow trough.

3.3.19

6.16.2017

a flower for Bloomsday


CIRQUE MATRIX

Gray Hobo-bird faces a problem :
how to save his own long
featherweight fern song?
How to rewind a strung-out poem?

Effigies & icons flashing by
like ripples in his eye –
Burchfield, El Anatsui...
Hartley, Martin, Klimt... Johnny

Jasper... fond winter raven-
oeuil of Master Bruegel...
Pompey, in the empty well
of Yahweh, was befuddled – No One

There.  The clear plein air of Quaker
meeting house, of Shaker
chair.  The carpenter’s
simplicity of Philadelphian law-

oracles.  We hold these truths...
But Hobo’s murmuring his
Nil Reed Candace house;
his prairie wind blows wild (Ruth’s

trail through mazy corn, tracking
Boaz from Goshen-land).
With poem-in-a-can
in hand (his pemmican) & Red Wing

Thunderbird-Woodpecker perched
atop his hat, he moseys,
slouching, sea to sea;
aboard his polar bear canoe (birch-

                 *

light) he circulates a mystery –
where be this Henry Church
round whom leaf-sundials march?
Planted in Resurrection Cemetery?

Or hidden in a holm oak tree?
The painted whisper gallery
enshades invisibility.
Will he sleepwalk forever, Poetry?

The milkweed monarch fans meekness.
This moth is camouflaged
brown dust.  The sagebrush
rolls through red deserts, the cedars

pine for Juniper (slate-blue).
Time’s broom sweeps clean
but tiny seeds remain.
A microcosmic mustard-yellow

gyroscope (spun in Ravenna
backwater) balances
Galilee on Providence;
the bicycle with one duo-antenna

twirls its silver spokes into
a rose-wheel window.
Where did Harry go,
Hobo?  He’s hidden in Otranto

glass.  He’s riding Pegasus
into a cirque matrix –
cartwheeling carny tricks
as Henry Flower Wilderness.

6.16.17