Swagazine Five

Racing Form Poems, by Doug Tanoury

 
Six Brass Buttons

I remember his uniform
In my bedroom closet as a boy.
The jacket's sleeves lit up
With Sergeant Major stripes.
Its weight slowly bending
The wire hanger.
 
 

 
Fields Of Silk
 
Her bed of love's pink touches
Were dreams are born,
Fantasies made flesh,
A place of soft laughter,
Peaceful darkness.

 
Our Three Wishes

It was simple once.
I used to practice wishing,
Rehearsing wishes
Confident of each one,
Certain of all three,
But now
It's grown complicated.
I'm not so certain and
Old desires no longer
Hold power over me.
I now understand
The danger of
One wish granted .
 
 
Night Touch
 
Evenings are cold but clear.
Stars and moon light the sky.
The Belt of Orion shines above
My neighbor's house, the Laotian,
Who's wife knows so little English.
I wish I knew the name of just one star.
 
 

Echostalkingwillow
 
I remember a willow
In my yard as a child
Its branches weeping
Way to the ground,
And me hiding in them,
Wondering what could
Cause a tree to cry.
 

 
Mr. Lucky
 
I've lived simply
All these years,
"Builds character"
I'd said,
But now I'm worried.
I hear good fortune
Breaking down
My door.
 

 
On Her Own
 
No children,
No man,
Only herself
To care for.
Her comings
And goings
Her own
Choices.
When I see her
In a doorway,
I always wonder:
Coming?
Going?

Cedarwood Spirit
 
In the chest at the foot of the bed,
Where the flannel sheets
And winter quilts are kept in summer,
I find the crocheted tablecloth
She made and the crystal candelabra
From her dining room and I miss her,
Regretting it's been so long
Since I've looked in this chest.
 
 
Radio Flyer
 
The paint on the wagon
In the garage has faded
And it's now more pink
Than red
Rust forms a halo
Around each bolt's head and
The axle squeals as the
Wheels turn.
The children have grown
And haven't played with it
In many years, but I
Still keep it,
Always making
Room for it
When I clean the garage
Each spring and fall.
 

Mime Artist
 
There is a part of me
That cannot speak,
That feels things
I cannot express in words,
But only in exaggerated gesture,
White-faced makeup,
Painted lips and stylized eyes.
I often bite my lips,
Stomp my feet in anger,
Because I can't convey
The message of what I want,
What I really need and so I
Continue to grope an invisible wall
For an opening that can't
Be seen but only felt.
 

Daiquiri Blue Moon
 
I often sit in the yard
On summer nights, on
A wooden sun chair that
I built from scrap.
 
I think about the things
In the past that brought
Me here, the events that
Shaped this moment, the
Things I did or did not.
 
I can count the turning points,
And say if not that, not this,
But I'm not so sure of water-
Sheds, for I mistrust them.
 
It's little insignificant
Moments that grow and
Build in importance like
The eyes of a man and woman
That meet quite by accident.
 

Time Fire
 
Yesterday's ablaze,
Flames licking
Across today
And smoke
Obscures tomorrow.
Soon everything
I have known,
Will know,
Now know,
Will be consumed,
All transformed to ash
Except not this,
Not these,
Not them.


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Poem titles were taken from the names of horses in a race results.
Photographs by Joe Fleisher, from a postcard series published
in 1948 by Fleischer Associates of Baltimore, MD. Used without permission.
Contents Copyright © 1998 Swagazine Five