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Gary Zimmer Poem
Perfection!
The eyes, evenly spaced, one eye and another, one to a side
The eyes warn of the precipice, find the water, search for prey
The ears hear the risk not seen, one ear and another, one to a side
The ears discern a threat, sense the danger, and caution ‘step away’
All to hint of a plan, that of the perfection of man
The nose, centered, beneath the eyes, nature’s blessing
The nose, a wafting of flowers, a babe’s sweetness, an aroma of spices pure
The mouth, nature bestows its riches, apples, cherries, water ice cold streaming
The mouth, a spoon to nurture, of tasteful pleasures, and we endure
All to hint of a plan, that of the perfection of man
The arms, to heft the bounty, sinew to raise all that is of essence
The arms, to protect loved ones, to embrace, to till the soil
The hands, to build, to feed, to fold in deference to a greater presence
The hands, to calm, to stay the evening chill, to celebrate the harvest of toil
All to hint of a plan, that of the perfection of man
The legs, to lessen the distance between mother and child, to walk, to run
The legs, to ascend the mountain, to follow the trail, to seek the new and leave the known
The feet, to seize the earth, to stride, and in turn, to lower gently, earthward, a victory won
The feet, to stand, to steady, to lean, to tactfully depart once seeds are sown
All to hint of a plan, that of the perfection of man
The mind of man, to conceive, to invent, to ease the burden, to assuage the pain
The mind of man, to conserve the forests, to defend the jungles, to cleanse the water
The Spirit and Soul of man, enduring, unceasing, continuing beyond our earthly plane
The Spirit and Soul of man, to love and revere Nature as mother, as father
All to hint of a plan, that of the perfection of man
Copyright © Gary Zimmer | Year Posted 2017
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Gary Zimmer Poem
I am not the famous one. But my pain was equal to his.
He became Chekhov. I became Alfie.
The meanness of the streets that spawned us made him a literary oak, while I became the hollow man, looking both outward and inward for substance not yet there.
His legend established, his journey ended. My mediocrity lingers long, yet unexplained.
He lived close to the fairgounds while I climbed its fence in a black leather jacket, collar turned up, white t-shirt underneath, scowling, announcing a manhood not yet achieved.
He was raised by an alcoholic, itinerant father. My flesh grew as the devil ranted, my spirit beneath his feet, no handhold to raise itself.
He had no inside plumbing on fifteenth street. At the house in the alley I had beer bottles on Sunday and hunger by Wednesday.
His father wrested a living from the same mill that filled my friend Jimmy with water, taking away his profanity and leaving his mother with hair turned white overnight. Death still not understood, I laughed at his funeral.
His house too full, he wrote his stories in cars. Bereft of self, cars became the vessel in which I conducted a fruitful search for meaning, if only for the briefest of moments.
Words were his refuge. Mine was spherical and a talent to manipulate my body in fluid physical form, pleasing to others, giving birth to more brief moments of wholeness.
His was the class of Monda, Golphnee, Majors, Irwin and Keith. They lived in the light while our equal to Russian brilliance groped in the darkness, unseen.
His star, fully risen, he kissed his Tess goodbye and surrendered himself to the infinite untold story.
Still lost in the forest, I look back over my shoulder and ponder the complexities of that mean little town, still mostly unaware of the stature of the boy who emerged from its east side to take his place alongside Hemingway, Mailer, Thoreau and Wilder.
Copyright © Gary Zimmer | Year Posted 2017
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Gary Zimmer Poem
Fifty-Nine Dead, 597 Injured by Gun—US Tragedy—We continue to kill each with abandon!
Needles without thread
Stallone without stones
Marriage without love
Man without his gun
Romeo without Juliet
Parson without parish
Ocean without motion
Man without his gun
John without Marsha
Taylor without arrows
Pryor without fire
Man without his gun
Joplin without McGee
Monroe without Joltin' Joe
George Herman without Babe
Man without his gun
More dead, more guns
Blood spewing forth, more guns
Insanity embraced, more guns
A mother pleads, take your guns to town boy
A mother and 58 more plead, here are my sons, my daughters
I provide them to you, use your guns, do what you must, kill them
Guns, embraced by the ultimate lethal weapon, man…more guns, more guns
Copyright © Gary Zimmer | Year Posted 2017
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