Poems 1959-2009

Poems 1959-2009 Read Online Free PDF

Book: Poems 1959-2009 Read Online Free PDF
Author: Frederick Seidel
cab through springtime Central Park,
    I kept my nose outside the window like a dog.
    The stars above my bed at night are vast.
    I think it is uncool to call young women Ms.
    My darling is a platform I see stars from in the dark,
    And all the dogs begin to bark.
    My grunting gun brings down her charging warthog,
    And she is frying on white water, clinging to a log,
    And all the foam and fevers shiver.
    And drink has made chopped liver of my liver!
    Between my legs it’s Baudelaire.
    He wrote about her Central Park of hair.
    I look for the
minuterie
as if I were in France,
    In darkness, in the downstairs entrance, looking for the light.
    I’m on a timer that will give me time
    To see the way and up the stairs before the lights go out.
    The so delicious Busby Berkeley dancers dance
    A movie musical extravaganza on the staircase with me every night.
    Such fun! We dance. We climb. We slip in slime.
    We’re squirting squeezes like a wedge of lime!
    It’s like a shout.
    It’s what
minuterie
is all about.
    Just getting to the landing through the dark
    That has been interrupted for a minute is a lark.
    And she’s so happy. It is grand!
    I put my mobile in her ampersand.
    The fireworks are a fleeting puff of sadness.
    The flowers when they reach the stars are tears.
    I don’t remember poems I write.
    I turn around and they are gone.
    I do remember poor King Richard Nixon’s madness.
    Pierre Leval, we loved those years!
    We knocked back shots of single malt all night.
    Beer chasers gave
dos caballeros
double vision, second sight—
    Twin putti pissing out the hotel window on the Scottish dawn.
    A crocodile has fallen for a fawn.
    I live flap copy for a children’s book.
    He wants to lick. He wants to look.
    A tiny goldfinch is his Cupid.
    Love of cuntry makes men stupid.
    It makes men miss Saddam Hussein!
    Democracy in Baghdad makes men think
    Monstrosity was not so bad.
    I followed Gandhi barefoot to
    Remind me there is something else till it began to rain.
    The hurricane undressing of democracy in Baghdad starts to sink
    The shrunken page size of
The New York Times
, and yet we had
    A newspaper that mattered once, and that is sad,
    But that was when it mattered. Do
    I matter? That is true.
    I don’t matter but I do. I lust for fame,
    And after never finding it I never was the same.
    I roared into the heavens and I soared,
    And landed where I started on a flexing diving board.
    I knew a beauty named Dawn Green.
    I used to wake at the crack of Dawn.
    I wish I were about to land on Plymouth Rock,
    And had a chance to do it all again but do it right.
    It was green dawn in pre-America. I mean
    Great scented forests all along the shore, which now are gone.
    I’ve had advantages in life and I pronounce Iraq “Irrock.”
    The right schools taught me how to tock.
    I’m tocking Turkey to the Kurds but with no end in sight.
    These peace tocks are my last. Goodbye, Iran. Iran, good night.
    They burned the undergrowth so they could see the game they hunt.
    That made the forest a cathedral clear as crystal like a cunt.
    Their arrows entered red meat in the glory
    Streaming down from the clerestory.
    Carine Rueff, I was obsessed—I was
possessed!
I liked your name.
    I liked the fact Marie Christine Carine Rue F was Jewish.
    It emphasized your elegance in Paris and in Florence.
    You were so blond in rue de l’Université!
    The dazzling daughter of de Gaulle’s adviser Jacques Rueff was game
    For anything. I’m lolling here in Mayfair under bluish
    Clouds above a bench in Mount Street Gardens, thinking torrents.
    Purdey used to make a gun for shooting elephants.
    One cannot be the way one was back then today.
    It went away.
    I go from Claridge’s to Brands Hatch racing circuit and come back
    To Claridge’s, and out and eat and drink and bed, and fade to black.
    The elephants were old enough to die but were aghast.
    The stars above this jungle poem are vast.
    To
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