Saturday Poems from Dust Congress
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A Quiet Poem
— Frank O’hara
When music is far enough away
the eyelid does not often move
and objects are still as lavender
without breath or distant rejoinder.
The cloud is then so subtly dragged
away by the silver flying machine
that the thought of it alone echoes
unbelievably; the sound of the motor falls
like a coin toward the ocean’s floor
and the eye does not flicker
as it does when in the loud sun a coin
rises and nicks the near air. Now,
slowly, the heart breathes to music
while the coins lie in wet yellow sand.
— Nicanor Parra
Write as you will
In whatever style you like
Too much blood has run under the bridge
To go on believing
That only one road is right.
In poetry everything is permitted.
With only this condition of course,
You have to improve the blank page.
The Time I Like Best
— Roger McGough
The time I like best is 6am
when the snow is 6 inches deep
which I’m yet to discover
’cause I’m under the covers
fast, fast asleep.
Image: Robin Rhode, He’s Got Game, 2009