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Three Poems by Stephen Mead February 28, 2012

Posted by vscorpiozine in Veteran Poets.
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Poems from “Whispers of Arias”


So many lights out there upon pleats,

The white tipped black lapping smooth—–
This is our apartment now, how it feels,
Such a strange space recalling all
The packed boxes, the last objects…
What’s left is open as a harbor is open:
Echoes honoring the falling waves…

I know how terrible need is, this distance
Gaping with the intimacy of discarded
Package string, tacks, tape…
I know it unforgettably,
The flow,
Our cove’s slogan…

But the way you were summoned, love,
Was just as articulate.
Nearby wait pirate ships.
Tell them for me
We are more than just cargo

For the whole silky bay.

Tchaikovsky’s Nina

I had many men, but not the man,
Until him.
What did it mean?
Music sweeping over, the great
Composed redemption, or so I hoped,
Sending a letter, afraid…
He replied, even wrote me an opera,
The muse’s brew stewing us, rare
Tender hearted onions
That answered prayers pickled.

Brother & sister.  He said:
Be patient with me.

I lay beside him in our marriage bed
Still waiting beyond what could not
Be shook or understood.
At least then, that’s how it felt.
Later came Mother Menace, madness,
The furies, irreconcilable, splitting
The rift wider, & us cast adrift
On those throes of liquor, laudanum,
With me, ME!, now asylum housed
Like his cholera-pocked Mom
Still a symphonic plague.

In between all that, yes, he still
Had his good moments, inspiring
Contemplation:  sparklers in the hands
Of children, a rising fireworks tympani
While I, picturing this, here, confined
To these bars after fighting for grub
With the Others, here I am almost
Equally sedate with this,|
This knowledge:
We should have let everything be.


Were prairies crossed, forests or
What’s left of either?
Amid reactors, did you seal-steal
Or coast-flit, an egret, with tar
Coated wings?
The minefields, the mines…
Danny, what caused these scars?
Hypocrisy confronted?
The intimidation of clubs?
These marks are now your uniform,
The valiant vulnerable skin
Still there, & we shall wash,
Let the emblems have health
Or the nearest possible thing.
More than surviving, war’s other
Meaning must be your grin, your
Arms, the valuables, each resource
An ozone layer with little burning pricks…
Map pins for oil, for the disputes,
Territorial, for the dumping, the vapors…
What fire has the flag of your khaki put out
Scorched to the chest?
The flames, their imprint, that shield now
Is peeling gauze.  It’s a tattoo in reverse.
It’s an entrance which hands, the face
Coming close can only hope to console so
The come ye back,
The sunlight, the shadow knows
That you did, that you made it.

Look Danny, you’re here.

Two music videos for “Whispers of Arias” can be viewed via:  http://www.youtube.com/user/StephenMead?feature=mhum


A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer and maker of short collage-films.  His latest project, a collaboration with Kevin MacLeod, is entitled “Whispers of Arias”, a two volume CD set of narrative poems sung to music, http://stephenmeadmusic.weebly.com/

 Amazon Author Central Page



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