Incidental Poetry, pt. iv

01 Mar


There is no sound quite so handsome
as an old wooden bridge
rigid and creaking
beneath the haul of one more winter
in a chorus of concoctions
with the cold pond unlocking
its swirled pearls of coated ice
glossy black as a cow’s glass eye
bubbling from below the floating sighs, as alone
footsteps traipse along
the arthritic bark of this old man’s backbone.

Indeed, it tugs the young shanks of the heart, becoming
from calved curmudgeon
to spring’s thaw, reckless
with warmth and wild relief.

© teecorkbow, all rights reserved (all lefts outgoing)


Posted by on March 1, 2012 in Environment, Incidental Poetry


2 responses to “Incidental Poetry, pt. iv

  1. Maury Smith

    March 1, 2012 at 11:31 am

    I was talking to Rimbaud and Ginsberg at the Cafe Select the other day and one of us (can’t say whom) murmured how wonderful it is to live in a world where poetry happens at random times in our busy days. Corso vehemently agreed then promptly asked me to lend him 500 francs. I did so in the name of poetry. When he pays me back I’m buying you a pastis, my friend.

    reckless with warmth and wild relief,


    • t corcoran bauer

      March 1, 2012 at 1:48 pm

      Please send my best to Artie and Alan! And if Jimmy Merrill’s within earshot, make a joke about Merrill-Lynch being a cock-and-bull story. I “bet” all the boys will appreciate the pun!


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