left exposed scribd

8/9/2019 Left Exposed Scribd

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Gene Myers, Left Exposed

Sometimes, when I think "sky"

Angels are skipping stones

Former sainton a nail --

on a hotel wall --in a once-great city:

--

I fall into bed;hear coughingfrom the ground floor.

Seeking an immediate response

I tell her we are salted with fire.She said nothing all night…

Then, because it was cold, I told her

The police and slaves have made a fire

beneath the laurel tree.And it went nowhere, all night…

Growing tired, I finally suggest we return to the well.

I look outside and see the road has disappeared.She knows me…




The only animal that can cry is

stranded at the foot of a mountain...




Existence

A small boy lies

impaled on a wrought-iron fence.

This is no kind of dream.

He knows he is there,

he can feel it.




Moth between window and screen

I'm tired.




Crushed bug almost

made its way across the pillow.

*

Snow covers the yard --the affair long over.

Bags at the door ;

inserting the key.

*

At the bottom of the night sky --

the biggest keyhole I'll ever see.




The Prodigal Son:

Once again, heaven sends out its angels

for what it's lacking.




A God Who Is Still Making Up His Mind

A God who is still making up his mind

buys a lot of mirrors

is hoping for a snow day

or at least some time to sit around and read.

A God who is still making up his mind

doesn’t shave

watches a lot of TV and

shies away from contacting his people.

Although he does manage to slip in the occasional prank or two

just to keep everyone amused

if ever so slightly...

a missing sock

a free topping on a pizza

a misplaced phone call from a long lost friend

as the sun is setting.

Barely enough room for me

and the sky

on her tiny

shoulder.




As a musician, Einstein couldn’t keep time very well.

a crow caws --

the first black hole in the leaves

you notice this year




The potato peeler on the table

pointing to him --

life is sometimes quiet.




a cross at the edge of the world

you could take in anything too quickly




The stones in my mind are quiet and smooth.




In the afterlife

will they have been watching?

or do they need to be caught up?

Natural Order“Eternity is a terrible thought. I mean when is it all going to end?” – Tom Stoppard

Then self-reflection was invented and

eternity was the first spot on the map.

For many, never ending offered a life’s work.

To John, it meant never finding his socks

while neighbors added meaning to their days

and planned for infinite potluck dinners.

John seemed doomed to a lifetime of searching

and banging his head a lot

on the lower, darker corners of his cave.

What would it feel like to wander outside, face up to the sky

feet on grass, feet on sand, feet in water…?

Finding his socks would be such a singular event.

But the hiatus would be unnatural.




Our dinner guest has thrown His keys into the burning bush again.

God shrugged.

No one saw.




lure in the cloudy water

seed-sized faith

alone.

Another Angel

I am a ship to the moment.

Say this with me:

You are a king in front of a king,

and we are living, in part,

in a former kingdom.

And still, someone isn’t calling.

Has anyone been blessed?

The only animal that can cry is

stranded at the foot of a mountain.

Rise up and watch this!

Four streams;

one stopped;

three keep going.

Someone prayed for this day.

Five minutes until we lay hands.

Just a few minutes before we see

what’s coming around the mountain.

Somebody say what’s next!

Footsteps in the rain,I stop --listening...




A security camera hangs in the corner. Sometimes you need to lose things.




My white window sill

The caterpillar's long road




walking cane in dry grass

leaving the present

where it is




an owl rang out ⎯shimmered ⎯then awoke.

Unlatched night,

trembling eyes,

flower turning:

Borders from frogs

rivers from frogs

Egypt from frogs…

Do your hands take the place of frogs?




The Tail of the Recalcitrant Donkey

If his ears swivel one way,

Christ is coming.

If they swivel the other,

he is chewing seeds.

Behind him,

countless details.




the whir of the fan;

whine of the baby -- summer.

Sauvage Shores

The long heavens

The long exceptions

Flowers in focus before the dark horizon

The present that nothing could prevent.

As for my part…

I stumble anytime I enter a room

I trip over the change in lightI get my fingerprints on everything.

breath marks on the window

poems on the coffee table




The footprints they manufactured

The photos they doctored

When they should have been home




The machinery of the universe

is humming⎯

The night sky hints

blueprints.

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