davidnoahpoetry.blogspot.com
David Noah Poetry: On the Interpretation of Occult Cuisines
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Saturday, February 21, 2015. On the Interpretation of Occult Cuisines. On The Interpretation of Occult Cuisines. One day my dad asked for help at the college. Where he cooked in the kitchen of privilege. Angry and confused at this unwelcome. Invitation into his working life,. I sat beside the ovens without speaking. Until lunch, when he insisted. I help carry trays to the dining hall—. But then made me wait while his boss. Told the students they were lucky. To have such a fine chef in residence,.
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David Noah Poetry: There's always a wasp
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Thursday, January 22, 2015. There's always a wasp. There’s always a wasp in the room when I paint,. Single, singular, muttering, dissatisfied,. Just out of reach above me. I know it at once. If it touches my hair. With its stinger held bent. 8212;flies are quicker, bees more direct. I watch it circle the light. It always surprises,. I kill it when I can. But a little danger in the air. Is welcome when the palette dries. And the brush clogs. Art is a blood sport. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
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David Noah Poetry: The Ambulance Howls
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Monday, July 14, 2014. High and long—it’s on the scent. We pull over and crouch. Like terrified gazelles by the roadside. Let it pass by. Let it find some other tragic avenue. Let it sniff around the alleys. In another part of town. Let it turn the corner on a far road. Where I don’t love anyone. Let it hunt in the dead ends,. In the hidden cul-de-sacs,. On the abandoned boulevards. Where weeds crack the pavement. No one I know lives on that street. Everyone I know lives on that street.
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David Noah Poetry: L. H. N.
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Monday, July 14, 2014. My dad had a tattoo on his forearm. Inked in dark blue: the letters L. H. N. But since he didn’t have a middle name,. I asked, when I was thirteen and ready,. What H stood for. “Hell,” he said, “or Heaven. One night in the navy we got real drunk. And all got tattooed by some handsome guy. Who asked what I wanted. I said No hearts. And no flowers, just write my initials:. L N, and the guy said ‘No middle name? Make it an H, I told him with a grin,. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
davidnoahpoetry.blogspot.com
David Noah Poetry: Pretzel Man
http://davidnoahpoetry.blogspot.com/2014/11/pretzel-man-i-amble-down-manhattan.html
Wednesday, November 19, 2014. I amble down Manhattan Island. Thinking about the bare spots in Cezanne’s paintings. Where the unworked canvas shows through,. Where the sense of his presence is deepest,. And thinking how the dark schist boulders in Central Park,. The unworked bedrock of the Island,. Are the obdurate bare spots. Of Olmsted’s landscaped canvas,. While eating a salt pretzel and keeping a canny eye cocked. For those uncomposed moments when a composition. Breaks through, pinning my restless eye.
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David Noah Poetry: Sun Dials
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Sunday, January 26, 2014. Everything with shadows is a clock. Even the bee’s dim blur on stigma and ovary. Or the pulse of a field mouse in tall grass. Can track the seconds of the sun’s arc. A deer will shade dry leaves. Exactly at this hour each year you live,. And the owl’s wings ticking over snow. Are swift and certain as a strobe light. Nothing stays noon for long. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). To Be, or Not . to Bop" (1979): Dizzy Gillespie, present at the creation. To Make a Frost Flower.
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David Noah Poetry: The First Time
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Tuesday, February 18, 2014. The first time I had sex it was in the back seat of a blue Ford Falcon. Parked beside the Colorado River in Austin, Texas. It was July 20th, 1969,. A night otherwise remembered for the first moon landing. We tuned the radio to KNOW. The Top 40 station with all the hits all the time. Because in those years the radio was always on. And because music is better than silence when silence is better than speech. The dj cut back and forth between the moon landing. Were (only the stars).
davidnoahpoetry.blogspot.com
David Noah Poetry: At night like a hothouse
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Monday, July 14, 2014. At night like a hothouse. At night like a hothouse. At night like a hothouse I dream orchids. Under a sheet, under the sky, under a spell,. I cup my ear to the door. Beyond that door another door). And listen to my dreams tell me. What it means to wake up. While on the other side of the door. Someone else listens to my heart beat. And refuses, from compassion, to speak. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). To Be, or Not . to Bop" (1979): Dizzy Gillespie, present at the creation.
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David Noah Poetry: Bestsellers
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Thursday, March 13, 2014. Sometimes I stand in the book aisle at Kroger. And read just the first lines of the bestsellers,. Thinking how those lines caught an editor’s attention. Often I'm dumbfounded by their dumbness, but sometimes. Caught just enough to stand there and keep reading- the ink,. As someone once said, dribbling from my mouth. Other times I sample a single grape from the open bags. In the produce department, pretending I'm checking for ripeness. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).