September 2018
Laurie Byro
philbop@warwick.net
philbop@warwick.net
In 1985, while pursuing a business degree, I unhappily landed in a creative writing class and announced to the group that I thought Walt Whitman was a chain of schools throughout the United States. To my astonishment, I had found my pacing, abandoned prose, and started a poetry circle that has been meeting for 16 years. I have published four poetry collections, most recently: “The Bloomsberries and Other Curiosities” Kelsay Books and “Wonder” Little Lantern Press (out of Wales). https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Laurie+Byro I am the Poet in Residence at the West Milford Township Library and despite it all, love New Jersey, and have lived here almost 60 years.
Song of Heartbreak
(for Icarus)
I. The Wanting (A Chorus)
Why then did you hunger?
I wasn't sure of sorrow.
Tell us how his flesh felt?
It felt like angels singing.
How then did you love him?
With every beat and measure.
How then can you leave him?
He wasn’t mine for staying.
II. The Release (A Chorus)
How was it that you found him?
I found his broken body.
What was sunshine to you?
It was my only rival.
How then did you know him?
I knew him by my heartbeat.
What now of his ashes?
I bathe my body in them.
LoveSong
After reading Ted Hughes
The couple loved one another. In the beginning,
like a father, he dressed her like a doll, tied
up the laces of her boots, his favorite boots,
and tipped her velvet hat just so. She preferred blue,
he liked cherry-red, just like the scarf he tore
off her head when they met. She was the blood
on the birches; he worried the smooth bark
with his teeth. They loved to walk the wild forest,
sometimes littering poems, sometimes leaving a
trail of bones. He was the cold air she sucked
during their hikes into the mountains. They were
the bowl of steaming soup she placed on the wooden
table, the glorious golden potatoes grown in their own
garden. Each night they licked the bowls clean, nibbled
their bounty, delighted with each succulent morsel.
They put the leftovers on the porch for the raccoon.
Sometimes, the cocky raccoon cowered when they met
him on the porch. He loved her and she loved him.
The husband always bought her a green velvet hat, mossy-green,
or once, icy-sea blue just like she liked. One year he found
it mistakenly in a pile of discards, but he resurrected it,
and left it out to please her. She told him it was like a writhing
spirit rising off the bed. But they two loved one another, told
themselves they were lucky. Last night just after the hot tea he knew
she liked, they heard the raccoon. He dragged away the bones
from that night's supper, gnawed the fatty carcass of chicken.
Pigeon Pantoum
(for the guests at the pool who chased us when our tiny feet were boiling in the sun)
Why did the guests shoo us away.
My wife and I lived here long before.
We didn't force them to stay
at the Corner Hotel in Barcelona.
My wife and I lived here a decade before.
Montserrat was our town when our son was alive
at the Corner Hotel in Barcelona.
We had no trouble till those guests arrived.
Montserrat was our town when Sebastian was young.
Are there no pigeons near the Queen?
We had no trouble till the Brits arrived.
They don't part with coin, to merchants they're mean.
There are many statues in this place.
Sagrada Familia is just down the street.
I have a good mind to garnish her face
with a splash of my own white paint.
The Sagrada Familia is just down the street.
Why aren't they pub crawling and so uptight
with a streak of my best white paint.
They brag they're light drinkers, (as soon as it's light).
Why aren't they at a gin mill and here getting tight?
Are there no pigeons near the queen?
They brag they're light drinkers as soon as it's light
with a splash of my best white paint.
Are there no pigeons near the Queen?
We didn't invite these galoots to stay
at the Corner Hotel in sun drenched Spain.
Why did those visitors shoo us away?
(for Icarus)
I. The Wanting (A Chorus)
Why then did you hunger?
I wasn't sure of sorrow.
Tell us how his flesh felt?
It felt like angels singing.
How then did you love him?
With every beat and measure.
How then can you leave him?
He wasn’t mine for staying.
II. The Release (A Chorus)
How was it that you found him?
I found his broken body.
What was sunshine to you?
It was my only rival.
How then did you know him?
I knew him by my heartbeat.
What now of his ashes?
I bathe my body in them.
LoveSong
After reading Ted Hughes
The couple loved one another. In the beginning,
like a father, he dressed her like a doll, tied
up the laces of her boots, his favorite boots,
and tipped her velvet hat just so. She preferred blue,
he liked cherry-red, just like the scarf he tore
off her head when they met. She was the blood
on the birches; he worried the smooth bark
with his teeth. They loved to walk the wild forest,
sometimes littering poems, sometimes leaving a
trail of bones. He was the cold air she sucked
during their hikes into the mountains. They were
the bowl of steaming soup she placed on the wooden
table, the glorious golden potatoes grown in their own
garden. Each night they licked the bowls clean, nibbled
their bounty, delighted with each succulent morsel.
They put the leftovers on the porch for the raccoon.
Sometimes, the cocky raccoon cowered when they met
him on the porch. He loved her and she loved him.
The husband always bought her a green velvet hat, mossy-green,
or once, icy-sea blue just like she liked. One year he found
it mistakenly in a pile of discards, but he resurrected it,
and left it out to please her. She told him it was like a writhing
spirit rising off the bed. But they two loved one another, told
themselves they were lucky. Last night just after the hot tea he knew
she liked, they heard the raccoon. He dragged away the bones
from that night's supper, gnawed the fatty carcass of chicken.
Pigeon Pantoum
(for the guests at the pool who chased us when our tiny feet were boiling in the sun)
Why did the guests shoo us away.
My wife and I lived here long before.
We didn't force them to stay
at the Corner Hotel in Barcelona.
My wife and I lived here a decade before.
Montserrat was our town when our son was alive
at the Corner Hotel in Barcelona.
We had no trouble till those guests arrived.
Montserrat was our town when Sebastian was young.
Are there no pigeons near the Queen?
We had no trouble till the Brits arrived.
They don't part with coin, to merchants they're mean.
There are many statues in this place.
Sagrada Familia is just down the street.
I have a good mind to garnish her face
with a splash of my own white paint.
The Sagrada Familia is just down the street.
Why aren't they pub crawling and so uptight
with a streak of my best white paint.
They brag they're light drinkers, (as soon as it's light).
Why aren't they at a gin mill and here getting tight?
Are there no pigeons near the queen?
They brag they're light drinkers as soon as it's light
with a splash of my best white paint.
Are there no pigeons near the Queen?
We didn't invite these galoots to stay
at the Corner Hotel in sun drenched Spain.
Why did those visitors shoo us away?
© 2018 Laurie Byro
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