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LexiWills,United Kingdom,Professional
Published Date:31-07-2017
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J. J. LOE _________________________ COUNTERFEIT POEMS Sanguineam vomit ille animam. _________________________ MOONLIGHT BOOKS – FORT WORTH, TX _________________________ MMXI “And the earth in its winged seeds, like a poet in his thoughts, travels…” – Saint-John Perse COTETS – THE WORD … 7 SON OF PAN … 8 HAMADRYAD … 8 VENUS … 9 POSEIDON’S HORSES … 10 CROSS CURRENTS … 11 ALMA … 12 SUNDAY MORNING, SALT LAKE CITY … 12 SUNDANCE … 13 POEM FOR A STRANGER’S SON … 14 RUNES … 14 VAGARIES OF LOVE: I. “All around you / announced in down…” 15 II. “Every wrong act…” 16 III. “Comic our tragic lips…” 16 (1943) … 17 THE WATCH … 17 THE FLIGHT OF ANAXAGORAS … 18 THE GRACES … 19 GLAUCUS … 20 A PASSAGE … 21 EPHEMERA: I. “Along the incandescent banks of the Yangtze…” 22 II. “Under the sun-blackened meridian…” 22 GARDEN … 22 COUNTERFEIT POEMS … 23 FIGHTERS … 23 SUNSET … 24 YESTERDAY’S NEWS … 24 LEST WE FORGET … 25 UPON THE HOUR … 25 MONUMENT … 25 FOR GINA … 26 A BROKEN VESSEL … 27 LA MAJA … 29 ETERNITY … 30 PRODIGAL … 31 COUNTERFEIT POEMS THE WORD – Before we knew the thing we called Ourselves – “Mind” formless and without consequence – There came the language of magical persona. Where in the center of it the eye marked all about and called it by name. Likened sensation w/ broken branches – the finger of God reaching straight down into the roots of the clouds / their warm & swelling walls – to split the Word from its diaphanous wings. Now – w/ soles blackened / the garden bare and washing amongst the shards and ruins of mountains from the high meridian – the 4 pm sun breaks the high-water mark of the doorway and the quick clamor of black-eyed children flicker across the scattered walls like colliding rivers in the white day. – They dread not this nothingness of Time. – They are symbols suggesting light / the delicate rime in the hard centers of our bodies. They whisper to the silent earth: I am flowing. To the flashing waters say: I am.  SO OF PA – In the body of a child: the plains of China / the dream of plum-tree flowers. One from the number of One as in the grammar of the leopard’s ellipsical coat… Stars ascend / descend – You are a fish in the ocean / a prose in work. Wealth / amusement and harmony crank at the wheels of invention that swim fat as Buddhas in china-blue eyes. Moving now through leaves of grass – Your lips part / empirical and oblivious – smote w/ heron blood… A vestige of ancient mystery, walking as though clarity could just pour forth uninterrupted  HAMADRYAD – With her calyx spread – sky-clad / wind-slick before me: like the lithe silver of young eucalyptus... She has revealed herself upon this narrow bed. How slim her sinews – nude in the slow thought of eventide. How fresh the scent / the salve violet and peppermint beneath these perennial star’s night wood.  VEUS – Bleat The dank white ‘plash of the gull. Its sleek stem stripped sleeker still than the petals of iodine / the long scan of the waves – its bloom out-swelling the green wash of the sea. Upon the ebb and in the spray of the bow I have seen her ride shelled in pearly rim / sleepless doldrums – Blushing with deceit and eloquence. I have seen her in schools and in the stores / in my youth and old age / upon the labyrinth of currents – Hair and features of wind and sun – clothed this day in gulls wings (white azaleas).  POSEIDO’S HORSES – Mytilene: 2:45 am – The touch of waiting / the failing wind gilded by the moon’s porcelain deconstruction. The faint smell of patchouli – adulteries / Sappho’s slender hand. A light from the window breaks across the door / catching the sleeping profile of her face which carves the sleek silhouette of an ancient amphora overturned upon the wall. Outside the sounds of silence twist in the summer leaves and cast upon the open balcony their citrus scent. They combine with the curve of the crescent moon / the sleeping vessel / and fill the breeze with that ivory foal riding down from the heavens – the astronomer’s dreamy bay. On a chair her clothes drape provocatively as if she had just vanished from inside of them – their receding forms delineate what is missing inside. Already the neighboring houses have dematerialized along the incandescent banks of the bedsides. As somewhere in a tangent universe Poseidon’s horses turn in the prow of a failing ship / finding the lip at the edge of the world and skirting within a breath of oblivion – the shadow’s wind blows suspicions of illusion over all that I am.  CROSS CURRETS – Caught in the cross-currents – men of all complicated example / like sand castles ever-varying. – Infinitesimal: every slight silent clarity they subjugate. (Smell of tobacco / musk of thirty wolves.) What I miss in their detail the retreating tides will soon reveal. Bathed in the white lunations of a dream sleepers swine and rut / suffer perfect war / obliged not to fight – that one should not fight a loosing battle. To the west the north and the south the mystics are disintegrating / scattered with the dust of eastern winds – where idling engines imbued with cold unsleeping hum in the dark between / in the limbo between the corners of the world. (I am now a grandmother / a fore-knowing.) Wheels, hubs and shafts labor forward upon simple principles: consign our dust to the Lord. In the breaks great white horses come up to lick the froth of the foam that wild winds ride. Then disperse into a cover of hands / like merchants of the Absolute – to lay impelled and broken upon the beach bristling like flies.  ALMA – I saw you in an apple orchard – Bold as Brass – If we can believe the newspapers had turned you not unseen to resemble their faces stained with red. The men. / The mothers. From time to time the pandemonium standing white in the middle on the 4th of July / paring the fruit of my mouth. The light was written upon your body – A white blade upon white skin – traced in a red circle.  SUDAY MORIG, SALT LAKE CITY – A cough / a sigh – newspapers pile up outside the door-step / wind-chimes sparkle in diadems of sunlight. A naked man trims his beard / thinks he looks like Jesus Christ. His waxen anatomy planes of cosmology and heredity. Sap oozes into the tips of tree-branches / ornamental buds rub against the window. The sky is pure – the body whiter. Girls clad in breath pass / stand still like the hummingbird.  SUDACE – Pale ablutions on the banks of the winter season / the wings of wild geese – windy western brine of Utah. Attic spaces – eulogies / yawning sands. Aurora Borealis – the Astronomer’s dreamy bay. The slow coronation of falling snow accentuates this November’s slumber (an artificial paradise) as if driven here by sails arctic blown and spread undulate upon the ground as if white-caps tossed an astral sea amongst the dreams and blankets of this mysterious bed where silence accumulates. Softly the muscles report / gel – like poppies in the brain. In a body of light the sun parches the fill with down. Blue suburbs roll from the hills / her breasts – through the mud-caked clouds / over rooftops and far encampments. – A sky hung mid-sentence on what last she was saying... I think I’ll lease a tomb next winter in Damascus maybe / beat my broom clean of these bad dreams.  POEM FOR A STRAGER’S SO – The memory cells slam hard against the immovable force. A flight of blackbirds ascend. White-faced in the wind I found you. In the fields of the slothful – Wild Orphan. A son counterfeit inside the shell of the man / the element of my body. – Fair and concealed in the rusty sap and greasy feathers of my labors. – You are the window which penetrates the curtain / A salt which penetrates a steel.  RUES – Thirteen blackbirds passed through the thirteen forests of the season – the last day they alighted here in the brittle plum trees. – Thirteen constellated blackbirds in the white beginning mind of the season.  VAGARIES OF LOVE – I. All around you / announced in down falls the moon hemmed by crews of thieves and entropy. In the white-washed vistas sleepers hold in the solution / unfold from sheets of chlorine rending arm with arm leg with leg until man assumes woman woman / man with unerring labor. II. Every wrong act standing and placed in an imaginary circle a vessel or spine narrowing at the neck a green effacing stem forming a rosy spur. III. Comic our tragic lips poison and sing Scattered upon the night’s vagrant landscapes A sickle of scorpions where the wheat falls A span of moonlight upon the half-lit door.  (1943) – That year the sea rose slowly from the plain / crashing into life swollen as an infant. – A thing of its own shadow traced out of the ripple. – Salt white over red sand passed from bosom into hand. Everything that year stopped seeking / stopped struggling with it’s fate. Things primal held in their primacy things with meanings unknown before. – A fleet of sea-ships auspiciously set strewn upon the floors bind the time and the space to a strange and distant sounding place. Where the bleeding tide fares a name and the breaking penumbra threads the swelling furrows of the plain passed from bosom into red.  THE WATCH – Blacker stands the Mariner in fields of maize Knit with mar-line and stuffed with straw Watching the surge of the sea: Black gulls. Bloated squalls. Blue with eventide.  THE FLIGHT OF AAXAGORAS – In the vision of Andromeda: dolphins / phosphorous wheels. A silver sundering cut from the craft of reason’s winsome brow / in fragments of the world passing off from me – what Nous set in motion philosophically. As the heavens turn above / the seas cast back their nether claims / giving up their ancient relics – the salt and the flame – a white ship braved upon a frothy sea. In the turn of the prow disintegrate shores revolve and combine generation after generation. – A cold moon / a rare knowledge / a wind measured by the passing of dead ships. (Smell of brimstone / Old paper.) My eye turns to the black stars in the lofty darkness of black winds: green-gilled / horse-maned – A slick psychic ship-wreck tossed upon the jetties where ancient boatmen navigate the seas of silent Atlantis – white slight of brine upon the rolling deck / its wood pitched in Clazomenae. In effigy I raise the lantern: my bright and burning self – piloting these narrow straits between the living and the dead.  THE GRACES – To Brilliance, Joy and Thoughtfulness – may youth and pleasure attend your footsteps. I once caught a glimpse of your hidden nature when the mask of Silenus was opened in the dawn of day as the fresh dew breathed on all that night had scattered – the Gods within were at once revealed and Socrates danced. 

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