so much blood
soaked into this soil once
now daffodils
stone statue
goddess of compassion
looks through me
the bonsai
grotesque beauty
your secret?
Hachikou,
patience and passion —
a rare duo
wooden gate
too grand for such as me
where go I?
bell clanging
incense burning
garlands hanging
a hint of sacred in the air
and yet the mind is tossed
nothing sticks in one’s attention
any more than a rider can stay saddled on a dragon
if you can trip into the space between peals,
and ride that into the void,
you may find what you’re looking for
a thousand suns
shine upon my face,
one on my back
golden field
exalts the summer
while it lasts
lone flower
with stem to sun’s rays,
miffed or broken?
flower heads
twisting in unison
rapt attention
speeding by
the sunflowers blur
yet still flame
I see my twenties in sepia tone — grainy
— not to mention flat.
Should it surprise me that my memories are cast in the hue of old photos?
I never remember owning the pants that I see myself wearing.
It seems to me that if I really remembered that time I should remember the pants.
A kid born today will probably have holographic selfies,
and thus a chance to look back on youth in 3-D,
but it’ll never be quite right, will it?
that’s my forest
— deep and dark —
but, yet, I see cracks of azure dome
through the canopy gaps,
and when it undulates
competing species wave together —
tousled by the same hand
so, even though each sways at its own rate,
it looks like one gasping organism
fog ahead
deafening white noise
hidden falls
staring up
at falls sans water
drought dreams
high falls
water stretches and drifts
violent spatter
waterfalls,
creeping backwards
over eons
suicide, or
the best story ever?
luck of the rocks
the snow falls
silent and slantwise
“KNOCK-KNOCK” ear check
darkness drifted in
between last look and now
wifely cover theft
monsoon rains
awesome from the inside
awful to be in
in India,
seeing no one outside?
Rapture feared
out my window
fiery orange blossoms
are in season
Deciduous Qween by Matty Layne Glasgow
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This collection of [mostly] free verse and prose poems touches on nature, sexuality, and the loss of a mother. The poems are evocative and sometimes haunting, and they offer insight into experiences as specific as the author’s life as a gay man in Houston’s bayous and as universal as the loss of a loved one.
The collection is arranged into five parts. Each part continues the eponymous poem, “Deciduous Qween,” such that that poem acts as a connective tissue for the collection. The various parts each have their own unique feel.
As mentioned, sexuality is a major feature of this collection, and so readers sensitive to the subject should be forewarned. The fourth part is where the poems become explicit. In terms of graphicness, I’d put them in line with the more risqué works of Allen Ginsberg.
I found these poems to be poignant, heartfelt, and readable. I’d recommend the collection for poetry readers, particularly those who aren’t sensitive to matters of sex and sexuality.
blacksmith forges bands for a cooper
tap-tap-CLANG, tap-tap-CLANG!
staves for the barrel planed from oak
stip-stip-SHHISSH, stip-stip-SHHISSH
whiskey from the cooper’s barrel
glug-glug-GLUG, glug-glug-GLUG
souse staggers from the bar at night
ker-PLUNK!
shaggy yak
in Himalaya high
gallops carefree
desert skies
painted impossible hues
scrub and sand
moth wing eyes
so very convincing
owl or “seeing tree”
calm seas
don’t draw sailors
storms do
monkey moments
that mirrored pond,
reflecting us
