|
"The writing of poetry for the poet is not a choice.
It is like breathing, like hearts beating; the process must go on."
In the Consuming Universe
In
the consuming universe
sombre
hooded juncos
feed
and stoke their furnaces,
stars
eat up themselves,
humans
rip and rape,
feed
on flesh
discretely
excreting
compost's
voracious loop.
Each
entity from star to
microbe
caught,
its
vibrating hum
a
burning fire
coveting
its fuel.
David
Fraser 2004
Making Bread
I
wish to love you one more time,
to
find you naked
at
the counter kneading bread,
full
of the wheat fields,
golden
dust upon your hands,
our
bodies heat, our single heart,
the
pulse remembered,
our
hands coupled in the dough,
smoothed,
round and round
by
the constant motion of our palms,
the
shape transformed,
our
skin tender in the touching,
your
soft breath across my ear,
the
embrace of silence in the spinning world,
the
caress held captive
in
our need
for
making bread.
David
Fraser 2005
Back to Home Site
Email: David Fraser
|