Short Fronted Poems

today's streamlined flying machines
would amaze the Wright brothers
and their successors I think, for they amaze me. 

They are electronic and mysterious 
like the secrets behind our glass fronted buildings
applied science in its most gorgeous state is mindful...

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Numb your cortex and let her siblings speak,
Dumb her with a dactylic drumbeat
And let the fronted sound put her to sleep. 

Turn off your domineering manager, 
So others may awake at waking hour
To pour their paroled thoughts into your art.

Let the furnace of creativity 
Create new combinations and concepts
For that is the art, not the detritus....

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Drained after an aftzernoon sleep,
sweating like  a failed lover.
                   Not sure to have heard
                   a voice that made me pause.

Sorting onions to dry in the sun,
                   shuffling the green shoots
                   sinews of string and dust.

My face fronted by the acrid smell
                   of white insides and roots.

For a moment alone. Done....

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LOSS

A tree came down in our front yard,
I’d never noticed it ‘til now,
Its rugged trunk, its ragged bough
Had kept the sun from shining hard.
It was this tree diffused the light,
Its limbs selecting out which beams
Should enter, in bright-ribbon streams,
Our fronted rooms, to light them right.
It served its purpose quietly –
Living, I never gave it aught
Except indifference, 
Never thought,
But dying, made its mark on me....

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Listen to poem:

The Ripe Olives and Red Wines of Florence
David J Walker 

Austere is the way I remember 
The convent in Florence
 
Perfectly white walls 
And the small single bed fronted
 
By worn floors from daily 
kneeling in prayer

A simple soup 
will be served
At supper 

My native guide says 
Possiamo fare di meglio in città

Either way there will be 
Ripe olives and red wine served with

Artisan bread dipped in garlic 
Sweet basil and virgin olive oil...

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