At dawn those dogs, cats, and husbands who
have been locked out are welcomed in. They are
given seats by the fire, asked to tell stories to
women who have not slept, but tossed and turned
in warm beds.
Tell us once more, the women beg,
how it will end.
The storytellers tell them: That strange things
have been known to happen, and come up with
Later, they soften, and tell them things like this:
The sun is in my eyes, ~ if I say this about you,
it means something else entirely.
valley and mist
todays world is a secret,
its been raining
are no words left.
a pile of stories
lit up from inside
a city block is lights from above
from below its a shouting match
My neighbor is trying to seduce me.
We met once,
in the elevator.
He can see in to my window
and I can see in to his.
We can see each others
At night he opens the curtains
and plays a saxophone.
I turn out the lights and
pull up a chair.
Hes learning how to play.
Perhaps thats why
this all works so well.
the sun comes out bringing everyone else with it It was cool man, i slept in an abandoned car
first we want warmth,
we want happiness,
whatever happened to just being warm?
The Common Finch
One way of looking
is to listen.
Finches, look at finches,
heartening dabs of cranberry
which the dictionary calls any small
seed-eating passerine bird of the family
Finches are a reminder
of things fierce and delicate,
small creatures that congregate on the thinly strung
wires which connect
and sing to each other.
Small creatures that sing to each other.
you can sleep here, if you like,
that was months ago, and my heart
still hasnt left
I drive by there
in the middle of the night,
roll down the window,
here pussy pussy pussy,
thinking maybe it will come back to me
appear at her window
come bounding across the lawn
leap in to my cavernous chest
By the time you read this,
summer will probably be back,
blue & without end
but who needs endless days
open the window to sound
a telephone rings
no one answers
window six parts,
six parts lavender,
wind blows through them all
today a slight breeze seems to irk the rich heat of the sun Call From Tokyo
lying on a small bed
in southern Holland
end of summer
its August, and she said
no deal this year
as far as I can tell.
clouds rolling in
like free samples of a new drink.
listen to rain.
pretend were camping.
girl calls on telephone.
somebody in Tokyo loves me.
I love somebody in Tokyo.
maybe thats the whole poem.
shes leaving Tokyo soon
in an hour or two,
but Ill still love her.
somewhere in between
the sun became the moon
and darkness held our lives for a while
I gave a dollar to a man on the street because he had the
weathered remains of a bandage caked on the back of his
head. He was shooing away an animal which i could not
see, although it may have been a pigeon. Upon receipt of
the dollar, he stood up, dusted his pants off, and gave
what was presumably his best line and a smile, his smile
the better of the two. He said: Hey man, if youve seen
any...uh..blue..blue - headed..Amazons whereupon
he faltered then regained his animation and laughed,
nodding, as if to say send em my way. He was not
altogether without charm.
but dont worry
Im just over the verge,
by the garden taking everything in.
The doe ankle deep in frog pond,
new corn shoots in the furrowed loam,
miniature bunches of grapes,
peaches coming along - old tree propped
up with wooden beams.
Small snake sunning itself by tomato plants,
and the Studebaker three generations since
parked in the grass.
Now available ~
Cralan Kelder. night falls and is slow to get up. Longhouse, 2005. First edition. Fold out accordion booklet. New. Limited edition. $10 (+ $2 s/h)
As an act of goodwill and for poetry - Longhouse is sending out each month complete publications - online - of one poet (or more) we have published in booklet, broadside or postcard form for everyone to share. It's a way of giving back to many of you who have sent to us poems, letters, purchases and the same goodwill over the years. The series will fly in under the banner of our Woodburners We Recommend. It should also be felt as a certain warmth in memory to all our close and dear poetry comrades passed along - each one becoming more of a loss. Each monthly booklet will also be available for purchase from Longhouse. Issued in a very limited keepsake edition of 50 copies. Starting in 2006 we will begin to reissue and present past issues from Longhouse of select poets. For those readers that travel back as far as 1972 when Longhouse began, you know poetry was released like bandits by the day, by the week, by the month, and always free. We have never taken on grants and meant poetry to be seen & heard & on poetry terms. From 2005, into the Infinite, and within the universal cyber cosmos, we would like to share multiple poets with you....and only ask that you share them further.
© October 2005 by Cralan Kelder
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