The Book of Love

by The Magnetic Fields

The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It's full of charts and facts and figures
And instructions for dancing

But I
I love it when you read to me
And you
You can read me anything

The book of love has music in it
In fact that's where music comes from
Some of it is transcendental
Some of it is really dumb

But I
I love it when you sing to me
And you
You can sing me anything

The book of love is long and boring
And written very long ago
It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes
And things we're all too young to know

But I
I love it when you give me things
And you
You ought to give me wedding rings
And I
I love it when you give me things
And you
You ought to give me wedding rings

The Plausible Impossible

another glorious image by michael seidman

According to Walt Disney,
His flights of fancy
Hinged on the "plausible impossible"

That willingness to suspend reality
And believe
That if the propeller on the beanie
Spins fast enough,
The little boy will levitate...

A psychatrist friend told me
At 33:
"Your animus is an 8 year old boy
Who doesn't know
The laws of the universe,
(including gravity)
Apply to him,
So he still believes
Everything is possible."

The plausible impossible,
The beautiful impossible,
All the impossibles
Are possible.

Can You Imagine Me at 70?

art treasure by Lesley Chandler*

a slash through time's heart
let them through
i am a poet, he said
(was she lost?, they asked)

he is
she was
they are
now inhabiting that fragile slash
a scandalous summit of severed souls

one hijacked stanza
in a hundred page poem
that she began
and he will finish

*http://funkyartqueen.blogspot.com/

Primeiro Ato (Monocromático) na Paisagem dos Teus Olhos

image by jstar@flickr; poem by renato flief

Ela flutua sobre as cores
Não a importa o duo do contraste
Horizonte monocromático
Suas asas sobre qualquer transparência

As cores se misturam desde
O primeiro encontro
A voz suave e seu chamado
Aromático e de insistência
Descrita em linhas

Posso as ler?
As linhas da tua mão
Completam as minhas cores
Nem tudo é mono
Tudo está no branco dos olhos
A paisagem se concentra
Apenas, um pouco mais no centro

First (Monochromatic) Act in the Landscape of Your Eyes
(with apologies to the poet for this poor excuse for a translation)

She floats on colors
It doesn't matter the contrasting duet
The monochromatic horizon
Her wings on any transparency

Their colors have blended since
Their first encounter
A soft voice and its
Aromatic insistent call
Described in lines

Can I read them?
The lines of your hand
Complete my colors
Not everything is mono
Everything is in the white of the eyes
The landscape comes into focus
Just, a little more toward the center

flief's new blog: http://umvoosobreatempestade.blogspot.com/

Through a Gentle Lens

for Cinzita

How awkardly exquisite we were
To know, to love back then
Hopscotching landmines in
That playpen of terror
Tyrants and traumas
To what looked like life
From there.

Three lifetimes later
In some freakish measure of time
(Perhaps more mine than thine)
Through liquefaction, cavitation
We remain

The Dresden beauty,
(The wondering waif)
The fractal harlequin,
(The wandering waif)
Disparate dolls on a shared shelf

Keeping tabs, keeping track
Keeping safe
The other waif
That other self

The Relentless Beauty of the Ordinary

glorious image by michael seidman

for laurie

sweet the sound of laundry swishing
the click and clack of dishes dishing
the groan of hard drives overfilled
the clink of cocktails duly swilled

the ding of emails just received
raw scrapes of half-truths half-believed
a chattering mind consumed with doubt
the screaming soul, belting out

its song of longing, song of pain
the sound of living, once again

michael seidman's stunning work is one click away, at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mseidman/

lost light

i could say i remember
when I saw you in sunlight
basked in you filling
my window
with blue

i could say i remember
a time of plenty
of time, of knowing
the quality
of light

i call upon memories
that elude my grasp
in rationed moments dimly lit
the sky
at night

i could say the moon will suffice
but the lamp glares
with an unconsoling heat
the crystal pales
in paltry light

Love's Landscape

Scarred, pebbled
Laced with life given and gone
Long since ripe
Long since lush
Long since loved

And yet
Under your gaze
Under your hands
Under your weight

In the rasp of your breath
The heat of your desire
The cadence of your passion
I am renewed
Reformed, reborn

Catapulting, Spinning, and Gliding Toward Re-entry

special thanks to john schwartz of the new york times for his perfect prose

The shuttle, which had been circling the earth
upside down with its engines facing forward,
flipped to face its nose forward
and its cockpit upward for landing.

As it entered the atmosphere, superheated gas
known as plasma heated the outer surfaces of the craft
to about 3000 degrees Fahrenheit,
and the shuttle executed a series of computer-controlled S-curves
that helped it to slow to landing speed.

Those below heard a characteristic twin sonic boom
generated by the nose and wings
as the shuttle neared the Kennedy Space Center landing strip
at supersonic speeds.

Because the shuttle comes back to earth as a glider,
flying it is famously tricky.
In a 2004 memorandum to shuttle workers,
N. Wayne Hale, Jr., the manager of the shuttle program,
wrote, “The orbiter flies like a brick,
with handling qualities that would make a Mack truck proud.”

At dawn today at the Kennedy Space Center,
there were thunderstorms about 40 miles to the north
that threatened to scuttle landings for the day.
But just before 8, the message came from Houston
that weather was not a concern,
and the Discovery’s commander and pilot
were given the green light
to bring the shuttle...back to earth.

“Discovery, Houston, good news,”
Mr. Frick told Mr. Lindsey.
“You’re go for the de-orbit burn.”
“Roger that,” Col. Lindsey replied.
“Go for the de-orbit burn.”

The astronauts also prepared for landing by drinking
between 8 and 12 ounces of fluid every 15 minutes,
in order to increase the amount of fluid in their bodies.

Leaf for Flief

Words spill
From your mouth
(tua boca, anjo)
Like tiny buttons
Scattering on the floor

I scramble to catch each one
As it disappears
Forever

You cast your eyes
(teus olhos, anjo)
Into mine
To clarify, to purify

My poet-priest,
You raise your hands
(tuas mãos, anjo)
To cradle my face
Kiss my brow
In some ancient
tender blessing

You stay
I go
Alone,
Together

Countless

What is there to count when love flashes by?
No nights of fevered dancing
To learn the way the nearly beloved moves
No lazy coffee steam
To gaze across, dissolving into each other's souls
No rain-drenched kisses
To wash away the echoes of heartbreaks past

What is there to count?
Surges, pulses, glimmers of recognition
Darting glances catching darting glances
Chaste kisses that skirt the mouth
Surreptitious caresses of tousled hair
Tangled hurried words
To say it all, it all, before time falls apart

There is so much to count when love flashes by
Like snowflakes in a blizzard
Cherry blossoms in the March rain
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
There is too much to count

Torn

Torn from my own sky
I look to any bit of blue
For you

Your reflection, my own
Your color, my balance
Your gaze, my home

Castaways

What tangle of threads
Of fibers
Of sleeves and legs
And cells and sounds
Wantonly strewn
Reluctantly donned
Infused with the glorious memory
Of this moment
This mess

Shelter

Special thanks to Doug Stremel for this photo

So sweet the sky
That shelters
This shelter
This place
Of fragile balance
Of filtered light
And rare air

In the wind
The tethered canvas
Rustles and sighs
Grounded
Grounded?
Grounded.

But in the eye,
The tent
Holds fast
Beneath the steady sky.