Poems
Original Poetry by Warren GastonSummer Song
after Lorca Summer song, who set you loose among treetops and green leaves? The blue jay screeching his fright. Summer song, who set you loose among dahlias and roses? The butterfly escaping the night. Summer song, who set you loose among pebbles and loam? The...
Time Was . . . . .
We have dropped time, history lies broken on the floor the mirror of minutes lies shattered on the floor the egg of hours lies splattered on the floor the urn of epochs lies scattered on the floor. A shout goes out; “Help, someone repair time.” All the King’s horses...
A Taxonomy* of Knowledge
I have attempted to organize knowledge in the most precise categories possible. Things easily understood Things understood but not correctly Things assumed but not investigated Things known to squirrels but not deer Things known to birds but not fish Things you were...
The Lecture
“Form is emptiness, emptiness is form. Emptiness is not separate from form, form is not separate from emptiness. Whatever is form is emptiness, whatever is emptiness is form.” The Heart Sutra A cargo ship arrives in port, laden with goods from the East. It is not a...
Articulate Thunder
electric flash sky wound scorched cloud pain a basso profundo voice thunders out of rain echoing late alarm the danger is never past 2016
Articulate Graphite
follow pencil across paper, see what thoughtful dust is left behind. loops, swirls, straight and slanty lines. ‘t’s crossed ‘i’s’ dotted an alphabet, twenty six letters we have agreed in many rearrangements should speak our unique versions of...
Waiving Your Miranda Right
You have the right to remain silent. But you have the responsibility to speak. If you remain silent, who will have the key to the safe of your history? If you remain silent, who will attest to your innocence or guilt? If you remain silent, who will weep over the...
Remembrance
There will come a time when what we are doing now will be more real than what we will be doing then. We will remember these trees and they will live. We will remember the sun on our skins and our skins will be warm in the memory. We will remember leaves, bird songs,...
Talking Poetry/Fixing Cars
“I can make a poem out of anything,” the poet bragged, standing in the second bay of Green’s garage as grease-covered Henry leaned into the open mouthed maw of a 1971 Dodge Dart. He straightened himself out from under the hood - stretched and swore as his steel wrench...