Peter Valente
MAGIC MIRROR
“I loved you but you didn’t notice
Except I said it in the poem
Emphasized it, there.”
“Foolish,” says the Magic Mirror,
“how can one live
on so little.”
NOT SEEN BUT HEARD
He contemplates the figures atop a lonely hill
Argues with himself about the sounds he hears in the distance
The last few notes like a call from another world he thinks
THE POET CORNERS HIMSELF
Pretend there’s nothing to prove
Reason divides to conquer
What pleasures we have
Despite our separate agonies
That organize themselves in books
We talk about in public, praise.
TANTALUS
You speak of choices, free will, without faith or God.
Not even that would be enough, Tantalus.
How many pages before the subject exhausts itself.
And what solace is there in language?
OUT IN THE OPEN
Chaos when so sure
I had you down
We finger the bars all night long
These false mirror’s mocking light
Our pleasure’s noir. The raw cipher
Of the hard capture and the soft
As in Shakespeare’s
“posture beyond / brief nature”
Love’s hidden symmetries’
Official snares.
NIGHT LIFE
They horde unknown pleasure’s cheap hotels
The long night’s pain careening toward
dawn’s doused and streaming lamps.
A VISION
A woman I don’t know waves to me in the street.
She is a vision of beauty,
unaware of the light
streaming about her.
The wind’s thin crooked finger
brushes her dark hair wildly about.
But to escape from a trap
she acts without pity
refusing to speak.
5:33 AM
I squat facing the dark shadow
on the wall outside my window,
waiting for the light to change. Waiting
for you to come back.
Subtle changes in the hue mark the hour
in the meantime these flowers
I have placed in your care, love,
have withered and died.
“I loved you but you didn’t notice
Except I said it in the poem
Emphasized it, there.”
“Foolish,” says the Magic Mirror,
“how can one live
on so little.”
NOT SEEN BUT HEARD
He contemplates the figures atop a lonely hill
Argues with himself about the sounds he hears in the distance
The last few notes like a call from another world he thinks
THE POET CORNERS HIMSELF
Pretend there’s nothing to prove
Reason divides to conquer
What pleasures we have
Despite our separate agonies
That organize themselves in books
We talk about in public, praise.
TANTALUS
You speak of choices, free will, without faith or God.
Not even that would be enough, Tantalus.
How many pages before the subject exhausts itself.
And what solace is there in language?
OUT IN THE OPEN
Chaos when so sure
I had you down
We finger the bars all night long
These false mirror’s mocking light
Our pleasure’s noir. The raw cipher
Of the hard capture and the soft
As in Shakespeare’s
“posture beyond / brief nature”
Love’s hidden symmetries’
Official snares.
NIGHT LIFE
They horde unknown pleasure’s cheap hotels
The long night’s pain careening toward
dawn’s doused and streaming lamps.
A VISION
A woman I don’t know waves to me in the street.
She is a vision of beauty,
unaware of the light
streaming about her.
The wind’s thin crooked finger
brushes her dark hair wildly about.
But to escape from a trap
she acts without pity
refusing to speak.
5:33 AM
I squat facing the dark shadow
on the wall outside my window,
waiting for the light to change. Waiting
for you to come back.
Subtle changes in the hue mark the hour
in the meantime these flowers
I have placed in your care, love,
have withered and died.