Tuesday, March 15, 2016

B.Z. Niditch- Three Poems

(in memory David Bowie

We met playing
at your rock concert
opening up in
turning out old century
for your last gig there
quarter notes
drowning in voice pockets
bellowing over your skin
asked to play
we still hear you
on midnight hours
through windows
trembling with us
over the floorboards
we watch our dancing,
a toast that persuades 
that the thirst and hunger
of our repast wheelhouse
is perfectly arranged.


On the Concord river
we sail by my kayak
by a swarming
nest of hornets
a fawn rustles by trees
by spreading lines
of Emerson and Thoreau
at my students orientation
wish to hold onto language
flashing love and nature
by first circles of light
with a glow in companions
breathing hard on grass
in a marathon
from grassy hills and dunes
under dry orange leaves
as new acorns drop
we run into shadowy strides
as a horse back rider waves
to us down hills
of open songs
over Walden Pond trails
by breezy gestures of the wind
words fall on me
on length of days
with the same pulse
of verse as on my kayak
rolling on the bluest sea
on unexpected hours
or trekking over back roads
watching a young faun
in an open language
climbing on mountains
a woman in red high heels
tells me she has lost
her tourist visa and passport
on the last ship at eventide
holds my matches
for a neon campfire
near my hammock
out in the neighborhood
under the town's light
hearing my sax 
in the white deserted sand
my words wash over you
with a butterfly net
at the freshly painted gazebo
by the lighthouse luminosity
in wonder of woodwinds
over blanket quilts of love
picking my prayers up
over my peace arm band.


Six outgrown petals
in a corsage boutique
stripped naked among one 
last summer rose
still alive in winter
not forgotten by time
a first woodland lover
lost by wandering days
over my album leafs
in a page of my poems
from a muted muse
and stoned by
the waiting hedges
I'm in a March blue blazer
with apple scents
in faint trills from my sax
playing backyards
along wind swept trees
along the home harbor Bay
by dangling shadows
of now ripened raspberries
on my walking path
holding my life within.

1 comment:

  1. Loved all three. On The Concord River I felt the pace of the kayak throughout the poem. Really spun me around. Excellent write.