First Reflection (voting is open)

#1 or #2

First reflection

deep in the night
lantern on a pier
lit and trembling
dark waves below

a voice, a shiver, a passing cloud,
a house with a garden
I can barely see

First reflection

deep in the night
lantern on a pier
lit and trembling
water at the base

a voice, a shiver, a passing cloud,
a house with a garden
I can barely trace

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Ex machina

fullness of heart
at first sight
sweet
.     calm
.          jagged
.               flowing
velvety as wine cream
.     sweet
.          calm
.               restless
the simplest of pleasures
a knit of human connection
a banquet of fruit and chocolate
deep and dark and bittersweet
and floating in the room
the candle now still
a time to depart
ex machina

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The rains and the temple

Shiva’s giant trident
at Pasupatinath still wet,
a monkey, with child clinging
fast and dry to the belly,
eyes the pilgrim’s steps,
starts, reconsiders, decides
quickly for which tree
she is to run.

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Shortlisted for the Faulkner-Wisdom Poetry Prize

 

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Hero and Leander (voice)

I tried to do a voice recording of my latest poem. It was tricky getting it up on WordPress, as it seems I had to make it a video, upload it to YouTube, then post the YouTube link. Let’s see how it came out. Text below.

Hero and Leander (the lamp and the water)

I still walk to that lake, the surface now still,
absence of geometry, ache of tranquility,

a voice but a whisper
soothing, sad, a silver
thorn in the side of love.

What love creates, need destroys.

We put flowers on the table
at the changing of the season.

Then the rains came. We watched
through the kitchen window.
You turned out the lamp.

“I love you more than I need you,” I said.
“Now I know what that means.”
But need, the ache, the silver thorn,
will have its bloody day.

Time passes. Seasons change.

When I walk to the lake I stir the surface,
the glitter of sun, a dangerous swell,
my hand beginning to move
into place a geometry
of memories.

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Gary’s Shelf in NYC

Finally got my own shelf at Quimby’s Brooklyn, NYC!

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Hero and Leander (the lamp and the water)

I still walk to that lake, the surface now still,
absence of geometry, ache of tranquility,

a voice but a whisper
soothing, sad, a silver
thorn in the side of love.

What love creates, need destroys.

We put flowers on the table
at the changing of the season.

Then the rains came. We watched
through the kitchen window.
You turned out the lamp.

“I love you more than I need you,” I said.
“Now I know what that means.”
But need, the ache, the silver thorn,
will have its bloody day.

Time passes. Seasons change.

When I walk to the lake I stir the surface,
the glitter of sun, a dangerous swell,
my hand beginning to move
into place a geometry
of memories.

Poem by Gary Gautier
Painting by Cheryl Gautier

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Faster to the close we went

the earth stopped turning
and we all went flying
off toward the stars

sparkling, burning, dying,
our stupid awe holding
only to the beauty

hazy memories, moss
and moon, drifting
floating petals

someone on the tiny plaza
just outside my window

flying still toward the stars
faster, faster, stupid awe
holding tight to savage
light and bitter ash

eyes aflame, dreams
and memories void of pain

sparkling, burning, dying, laughing
stupidly good, colder now, yet
faster, faster, to the close
faster to the close
we went

  

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Which drops?

A little slant haiku. Which do you prefer? The first one (“my”), which orients the field more personally, or the second one (“a”), which orients the field more philosophically/metaphysically?

you
are the rain
drops

falling
on my stone
pillow

xxxx

you
are the rain
drops

falling
on a stone
pillow

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