As a Poet I Brush My Teeth
(like one of Homer's ancient past dawns recalled
in Greek fire of song, there Apollo riding
in car in air ablaze with azure tissue flaming
pink flame and sapphire dust ethereal,
powerful, O sky of morn)---
(as great-armoured Hector brave of Troy brushed
the sky with his war-helmet's fierce ridge
of horse-hair purple fire, that hair which
moved horrible beneath his heaven of gods
and frightened his wife-held child, son
of his loins, whom he was smilingly kissing
goodbye prior to his dying by Achilles)---
(those which I first picked as Aeneas did those
of Turnus with his great iron spear big,
which shattered shields, and jaws, and heads,
and so rained an epic slaughter worthy
of the co-founding of literature)---
(like celestial Artemis clean bathing in crystal
elemental fire cool, that is, water)---
V. F. Cavalli
DEEP PURPLE LIVE
When I was 16 I saw young Mozart
At a Deep Purple concert. The hot crowd
Was a pulsating blanket and the loud
Ear-bleeding roar and throbbing tried to part
Wolf's glued on pink woven wig. They started
"Highway Star"-the bass kicked in-he cowered
At the sheer vibration, then seemed to bow
As if aching with a wound in his heart.
Amadeus snapped and shook it all out
As the strands of the band fused and cut free-
"Nobody's gonna take my girl..." yeah, BOOM, tight,
Can't be no tighter. He started to shout
During the organ solo and screamed FREE!!!
As he collapsed into the white strobe light.
[In an old folks' home with Jeff Beck]
In an old folks' home with Jeff Beck
Would be the ultimate elephants' graveyard for me;
Old Jeff 86 and me 80,
Him in a wheelchair
And me lamely pushing him from the dining hall
To his amplifier 3 times a day;
All of us old timers nearly deaf,
Jeff slightly buckled in his chair
With his worn white Stratocaster across his knees,
His fingers a bit stiff
But man still a nasty slider;
And there, hauled up by 4 swampers
And pressed next to the wall
And snugged up nearly to the ceiling
Is his old double stack Marshall-
Black and worn
But still full of guts;
And Jeff 3 times a day saying to me:
Turn it up.
And then that grin
The whole gang of us half deaf geezers and gals
As a massive dying animal rips through the speakers to gnash at our rubbery old ears.
And 3 times a day
The nurses rush in to calm us all down before we
Moose crash towards God
In the cool lake-edge mud their hooves sink as they soothe
Their bitten ankles, knees and bellies.
Down from the thick
summer-forest's shade they
are driven by insects by the millions.
They escape snapping off limbs and trampling young jack-pine
in their frenzy for relief.
Down from the infested summer woods
they crash fierce with longing
for the water and cleansing wind.
They wade deeply in the clean cold; they drink and eat
of the succulent greens which rub and are
balm to their wounds.
There they rest their nerves and heal and feed.
The moose come to the lakes for this miracle.