Variations On Autumn, Red . . ., And Green — We Are Born Like This   1 comment

Variations On Autumn, Red . . ., and Green: We Are Born Like This  —  Image by kenne

Yes, we are born like this on such a dulling day — I think, don’t you?

Autumn Variations

I.
When the red flares of morning clouds
Turn to silver in the rising sunlight
The vaulting poplars and firs and pines

Along the traffic choked avenues
Turn an Autumnal red and gold
Light teaches liquidity to the arboreal

Autumnal red tail on a huge gum tree
Still point in the traffic of the day
Red tail gold eyes of the seasonal

The color of October maple leaves
Red tail with a perne in a gyre
Teach beauty to the sun blind trafficking

As I stagnate at the nexus of the day
Destiny teaches me to sit and see

II.
In the early October afternoon
Silver clouds streak pale turquoise
Gold light drenches the tall girl
Her lithe back and the dimples
Above her round denimed bun
Igniting a halo of blonde hair
Tumbling round her angelic face

The regulars are hauling chairs
From inside the Mad Café
Onto the broad sidewalk to sit
And luxuriate in afternoon sun
Each is caught in a sunset halo
Ringed in brightening yellow light
Around a deepening silhouette

III.
Pigeons wheel over the Park
Moved by the gyre of a raptor
A Girl wearing a tight black skirt
Sits and crosses her long pale legs
Willow, supple, saucy and soft
Sunset plays in wild brown curls
Tumbling around her Da Vinci smile

Gray utility poles and tarred pines
Bearing wires of the new reality
Gleam as their silhouettes deepen
Edged by light like embers brighten
A sun orange disc glances off
The polished rear of a passing car
Stabs the eye of the word blind poet

IV.
Lithe, the cat girl, in alligator pumps
With bright silver buckles, curls into
The long black chair as a soft breeze
Ruffles the gaudy feather in her hair
And the curves of her gold silk blouse.

It is early afternoon, Indian Summer,
Mazed in downtown San Francisco
Where we are caught in the sere:
Green leaves baked in noon turn ashy
And the grey tiled sidewalk white.

Eyeing the clouds of Summer cotton,
Young flesh shining through gossamer dresses,
I am storm tossed by the gales of ecstasies
I love early October in San Francisco.

V.
How high hangs the plate of cloud
How thickly does it sit upon the air
Pressing upon the atmosphere

So thickens air into syrup in the lung
And bending the light into the eye
So color is twisted into gray

A pigeon stands on a rooftop
Like a jewel of gold Roman glass
Iridescent slivers of feathers

Flashing through the grayness
Even in drear fog with tiger-eye fire
Color in the Garden of the Dead

But then the fog blows so thorough
Even the neck of a pigeon is subdued

VI.
Pigeons wheel over the meadow
Stirred by the gyring red tails hunting
And mating among the giant red gums

The wind twirls falling leaves of red gums
Through the bright blue Autumnal air
As the huge trees dance with the wind

Autumnal brown leaves litter Park paths
Crunch and crackle beneath the heal
Autumn in the City, music in the air

On the sidewalk outside the Mad Café
The Rasta boys and the Gucci girls
Dance under Apollo’s Tree of Prophecy

Unaware of the destiny of Daphne
They revel in the face of catastrophe

VII.
The sidewalk outside the Mad Café
Roils with Rasta boys and Gucci girls
Doc Martens and Free Tibet tees
And hand knitted panda caps

They’re drinking morning beers
And dancing unaware that
The puny laurel down the block
Planted in a pit in the sidewalk
Is Apollo’s Tree of Prophesy

And so it is the world burns on
Underneath the rolling sea clouds
Porous as any El Greco sky
Revealing great turquoise moments
Wounds of a Passion marking the firmament

VIII.
Ten thousand blank faces
Blink from the vast gray mask
Of the wind whistled sea
The dark secrets of a moment

So quickly are they gone
To be replaced by the others
By the sisters and brothers
Upon the acrimonious ocean

I’m drowning in a sea of thought
But what can I fathom
From the tongues of sea faces

To teach me a philosophy of lees
or is it all a poetry of seas
Meant to teach me liquidity

IX.
The sun ignites the colors of custom,
Red silks, blue nylon and yellow cotton:
At high noon on a clear October day
Every thing the sun enlivens it pales:

The falling leaves are burnt and gray,
But the pigeon burns with an opal fire:
I smell fresh ground coffee, sizzling flesh
Upon a mechanical rumbling of the air:

Staring at diaphane of summer dresses
Floating on shoulders like water on stone,
And the scurrying legs of the pretty girls
Dancing beneath searing sun like gazelles:

I question the Veritas of all as invention:
Am I not just another dreaming Endymion?

X.
Impress of the morning
Green turtles sunning
On a big scummy rock
In the middle of a lily pond

Lily sunbursts of yellow
Venus jewels of white,
Demur cloaks of purple
Animated by the wind

Thought molten Gauguin
And his golden goddess
With buds on her breasts
And blooms on her thighs

Thought back of a turtle
Greater than the Moon
Swimming in the eyes
Of a maenad steeping

Like dreamy Endymion
Inside many dream’s dreams
How many awakenings
Until a maenad can see

The agitations of atoms
And so be unfastened from
Just dreams of the world

XI.
Steeping in the shadow of the canyon
High rim sunlit ledges of chert succumb
To the darkness of the granite mountains
A red sign blinks through the window
A folk song reedily licks the savory air
As I kill time with the point of a pen
And a delusion for nothing stops time
The measure of the motion of atoms
I feel like a vegetable but bleed like meat
Is it anything but a bloody id dream heat
Like Alpine grandeurs in Beethoven’s ear
Or Shakespeare caught in light of Vermeer

XII.
Autumn is seeking the Winter coma
How quickly the years bud fades away
Bug ratty or Autumn burnt, singed
There are brown holes in Summer clothes
No longer green, they’re gone ash gray
A brumal vacuum inserts itself in the air
And how much of a seer must one be
To read Winter encroachment in all this
I can flip a coin and I cannot predict
Heads or tails with any accuracy but
I do know that the rising coin will fall
This much at least I can predict unerringly

XIII.
I am in love with the October skies
My lover’s a blue soul that licks at my eyes
And yet she will flee and leave me with stars
And the black icy dome and Venus and Mars
So I sit in the room of the wild mocha seas
Crashing on islands of chocolate and jade
I sit in the room of the coffees and teas
Dreaming of pleasures where poetry’s made
Or is it the girl with the long copper braid
With gardens tattooed on the backs of her knees
She has a mouth made of indigo shade
And a kiss that infects with the sweetest disease
So I sit in the room the Concerto of Sighs
Dreaming of how to make love with my eyes

XIV.
Late afternoon buttery light of early Autumn
Owl silhouette perched upon a peaked roof
It is made of clay so the ravens just ignore it
The yellow air is savory like flesh on a grill
The setting sun bursts through a wine glass

Many suns sinking through the wine glass
Now the sun is set. The twilight turns red
Strings of cloud ignite then fail into night
The sky deepens, from turquoise to indigo
And the round moon rises, shiny white bone

I sit and watch the young at play upon
Each other’s skins, tapestries of their passions
A Maenad drunk upon the late god’s liquor
A Maenad lusting after the late god’s Ichor
So lunatic she dances with an old fool satyr

I sit and I watch the foolish old satyr try
To dance with the girl for from her the honey
Of generation drips into music drenched air
Like dew from a passion flower this old satyr
Has long been addicted to
She snared him on
The promise of a kiss then danced away
Leaving him dangling upon her feral song
The hook through pursed and leathery lips
The young flay him like Apollo did Marsyas

XV.
Constant beads of golden light
Are strung across the white wall
Behind the depth of the window
Upon the third floor of the large
Dingy building across the street
Its peaked roof rakes the low fog
How quick the sun disappeared
Tonight it grew dark as if it was
When it is, the back half of October
Sun set brown hair a copper halo

O quiet night, be a quiet night
But no it is filled with the thump
The sounds of sunset sacrilege
Old eyes glance upon young thighs
Drenched in buttery golden light
In the doorway of the Mad Café
Twilight, deepening silver blue
Bird wavers along an invisible umbilical
To the thicket of its night nest

XVI.
This was the weekend
Yawning Autumn’s
Nocturnal abyss
Exhaled and shriveled
All of the maples
Brown leaves now litter
Dull cement sidewalks
On Friday the trees
Were hung with green
And today they’re empty
Trembling skeins like
So many bony hands

Yesterday clouds crept
Scudding from the south
And that can mean rain
First storm of Autumn
But this morning is clear
Not a cloud in the sky
Cold is now lurking
In the shadowy air
The cold of the chthonic
Sucks light from the sun
Winter is eating heat to
Fire the season of oblivion

SPMackin, October 2011

One response to “Variations On Autumn, Red . . ., And Green — We Are Born Like This

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  1. Pingback: The Meetinghouse « Serendipity

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