Poem 1/28/2005

Here's another recent poem:


"I can't help it,'
you say, and maybe
like the ground, you
can't: the walk-side loam, just
last week sopped with weirdly
vernal rains, now suddenly
ripples with frost-hard sinews
clenched against the chill, and
bunkered like a cave on steriods:
I step, expecting acquiescence of
a fragile mole-dome, but no:
"Just relax," I say, but
you insist on tension's destiny:
you and the ground both
ripped, until the time returns for
calm and crackling pliancy.

(c) 2005, P. Timothy Gierschick II


A recent poem-in-progress for your consideration:

Meditations on a Disaster

It would be a metaphor for grace,
huge and unstoppable, were it not
faceless and so demanding; cutting
in that double-edged swath
through home and heart; the very
grain of things; a terrible baptism
magnificently smashing another generation's
romance for the sea.

a chilled Pompeii: its carnage too hasty, and
obscenely revealed; a sodden Hiroshima: not
hiding its anguished stencils, but showing
all damage in its ebb; the raw
fossils of the epoch's sudden shift.

For those whose life and blood's the sea; to
feel its grasping at the chest like some
blood relative slicing their throat, would be
too brutal to recollect:
better to die with death's saltiness on
the breath, than to mistrust your own
body's coursings, for ever after.

(c) 2005 - P. Timothy Gierschick II



Welcome to Gierschick Work. It is simply a place set up for you to peruse my art work, and my various writings on sundry subjects, while I work toward my goal of setting up a permanent website. Pardon my inexperience with this format. I still feel most comfortable with my battleship-grey Royal typewriter. If you have any questions about this blog, please write to me at futurefarmersofphila@yahoo.com. Peace.

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