Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 27, 2012
All the good ones are taken
(yes, I know it’s a lie)
All the good ones are taken
(but I no longer try)
All the good ones are taken
(I say to myself)
All the good ones are taken
(my heart’s safe on the shelf)
All the good ones are taken
(for a mantra it’s fine)
All the good ones are taken
(keeps my yearning in line)
All the good ones are taken
(I say with a sigh)
All the good ones are taken
(yes, I know it’s a lie)
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 26, 2012
The racing mind
the anxious heart
the beetled brow
all give way
to the quiet at the end of the day
all worries still
swift pulse relents
a cleansing sigh
to clear the way
for the quiet at the end of the day
no better balm
no greater calm
no sweeter freedom
from mental fray
than the quiet at the end of the day
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 22, 2012
In the large echoing room
upon the bare floor
witnessed by empty chairs
we plan our deceit
mere words to begin
black marks on flat pages;
we breathe them in
place them on the air
voice, the chisel
motion, the hammer
we carve art from ideas
free these marble captives
one element we lack
to transform our lies to truth,
make Pinocchio a real boy:
witnessing imaginations
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 21, 2012
[An ekphrastic poem
based on a photograph, printed on a greeting card, of a polar bear in mid-leap from one ice floe to another, seen from above (photo ©Florian Schulz)]
You,
leaping among clouds
white god in a sea-green heaven
arcing over a green abyss of dreams
shedding each former guise into that vault
where they are subsumed
to return in new dreams
You,
brilliant eternal arc
powerful bow of white wood drawn taut
the arrow of desire
at the instant before flight
the moment unfolding
always now
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 20, 2012
With a ticking sound
sleet envelopes cars in ice;
cocooned to transform?
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