a poetry e-zine

 

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Larry Kelts

Fire

  

I shuffle pictures on a burned down wall.

A frame and cellar blocks are all that’s left

of yesterday—all fell in a flaming squall.

 

Visiting then, now, you won’t even call—

too much baggage has fallen into the cleft.

I shuffle pictures on a burned down wall.

 

I work outside, alone, all through the Fall

—sawing and hammering, each movement deft—

I must rebuild from yesterday’s brief squall.

 

You sparked the fire, exploding over a call,

then watched as fierce flames tore apart the weft.

I shuffle pictures off a burned down wall.

 

Our words flashed, and then scorched and blackened all

we’d built leaving us alone and bereft.

While I rebuild the house we caterwaul

 

until I’m convinced all’s engulfed to fall.

Still, I measure lines and hammer words reft

of pictures shuffled from a burned down wall,

for more than a house fell in yesterday’s squall.

 

 

 

Chorus of Maenads

  

Two gashes dash her ankle as she evades

pursuit:  the supple ballerina pursuing

herself—a body in motion at rest. 

To him her death was everything and

everywhere else, but a visible rehearsal.

 

Outside the slatted door an old beagle

frets and scratches at sleepless ticks. 

The Beekeeper sweeps disemboweled drones

from the landing strip and turns the heads

of my lord and lady of the dead.

 

The boatman remembers her and her crossing:

coy and shy, she blessed the launch. 

Cute surprise, she burst the flowering

field courting exile as her pursuer scatters

the homeless swarms chasing

the excavators from the development.




Larry W. Kelts grew up on a dairy farm in north-central Pennsylvania. After working as a farmer, factory machinist, laboratory technician, and research scientist Larry retired, obtained an MFA from Bennington College and now resides in Newark Delaware where he writes poetry and frequents the art scene in Delaware and Philadelphia
 

Copyright 2013  Chantarelle's Notebook