Poems
by Robert Ronnow
Silence of Winter
Silence of winter
distant from all but my sexual contacts
her bedroom nights
and day friends
memory of my independence vanishing dream
holding on to it, myself
knowing how love can hurt.
Its seduction of me, dissolving my man barriers
biologically, to procreate
or create a new personality, a deepening
humility, her womanhood hands.
Not giving in completely
touching sweetly
but staying strong.
Going into the winter to mark my trees
not flinching in the dark early morning
casting an eye cold as a telescope
moving inexorably
a part of nature, insect, star.
This is how I'll love
and live with her.
Bad Movie
We should have gone outside instead of watching one
of the sillier, senseless, meaningless movies it is possible
to rent or buy. Winter or not the fields and woods
are at least real, commensal and understandable if
you know the genus and species. Know the genome
and biome. Learn the physics and music.
But this much reality requires an escape, hence
bad movie. A bad book is better than a bad movie.
A good movie beats a bad book, but a good book is best
and a great poem trumps all. Will my son Zach be one
who applies the scientific method? Can Aaron explain
Gods intentions to the people? Their mother and I will wait.
New Mind
The mind is the body
paying attention to what
it is seeing and doing.
Morning tea, unemployed
was one thing twenty years ago
and another now, two babies.
Yet when the boys pay
attention to what they do
a small rift in time opens
to name
plants and play
tunes. In that rift
the quiet morning streams
by. Work on clothing,
tools and food
gathering and preparation.
The young children practice
holding hands steady
new mind to attend.
To Go On
If you see a hawk
on a bough at field's edge
beyond the corner you should have turned
maybe it's a sign to go on.
Such as during an improvisation on
Flamingo or I've Got You Under My Skin
you play in the wrong key or mode completely
maybe it's a sign to go on, in the wrong key.
Or when my sons cry not wanting
to be alone, I'm upstairs writing
or just enjoying trees in every direction
it too may be a sign to go on alone.
Certain Days
Certain days planned to be eventful
I look forward to for weeks, setting
and characters, and the work days march forward
toward the horrible or pleasurable
and the day comes, it comes without hesitating or hurrying
although I hurry and hesitate
and when it is here, going by
during my hesitation or hurry did I
think what I wanted to ask?
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