a poetry e-zine

 

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Poems By David Landrum

A Gift of Stone Pigeons

 

After the mastectomy we bought

you stone pigeons. At the antique sale

we saw them and said, “Just the thing,

the very thing.” The concrete birds

 

were round and rough and

almost shapeless, smoothed

by years of elements scouring

their stone—snow and frost

 

and thaws and rainy days.

The sun had done its work;

at night, hard stars

and heaving of the earth.

 

They might have once been painted

blue. Now only a faint tint

holds on the grey wing-shapes

and on the scallops carved

 

to suggest feathers. All else

is lithic grey from beak to tail,

smooth curve of back,

raised head to tucked-in feet.

 

They set down to define your flowerbed.

They perch, they roost,

rooted, content in soil, become

the proper guardians of the place

 

where your plants flourish

(as they always did).

 

 

 

 

Solemn Children

 

The boy who came to buy ice-cream

where I worked: he chose

with the seriousness of

a diamond merchant—no-nonsense gaze

at the flavors underneath the glass,

no smile anticipating sweetness on his tongue;

the girl in blue whose portrait

shows her wary, censorious,

nothing of childhood in her eyes;

long dress, her hair pulled back,

and darkness in her unprotected look.

 

 

 

David W. Landrum’s poetry has appeared widely in such journals as The Blind Man's Rainbow, Up the Staircase, Evansville Review, The Dark Horse, and many others. He edits the online poetry journal, Lucid Rhythms, www.lucidrhythms.com.

 

Copyright 2011  Chantarelle's Notebook