DuaneLocke - the-hold.com/february 2001

HER WHITE GOLD HAIR
The moon sleepwalks
Between ferns on an oak branch.
The moon is spotted
With lichen and an owl.
I look again, it is not
The moon sleepwalking,
But her hair, her hair
Spotted with lichen and an owl.
Her hair walks without a body.

ALONE BY THE LAKE OF LOVE IN BRUGES
River willow,
You dappled the water
With many shadows.
Each shadow shaped like a hand.
Each shadow shaped like her hand.
I beseech you, willow;
Beg you, willow
To touch me
With the darknesses
Of your hundred hands.

APPLE
I always wanted to be an apple.
My heart
Would be
Black seeds.
A black seed
Would believe
That someday
It would become
An apple tree
Would grow an apple
To be kissed
By an Eve
Who never knew
An Adam or God.

MONTEPULCIANO
Tonight, I'm going back
To Montepulciano.
Not on an airplane,
But I'm returning
By the magic flight
Of red wine,
I will park my car
By the obelisk
As I always did.
I will rent the room
Where I always stayed
At the albergo by the obelisk.
I will immediately
Opened a bottle of Vino Nobil,
Sit in the bathtub,
Where I and the Slavic Teutonic blonde
Sat together.
But now alone,
I will look up
At Aurora frescoed
On the ceiling,
Sip Vino Nobil,
Review my wasted life.
I will toast my wasted life,
For living a wasted life
Is better than not living at all.
Then I will toss the empty bottle
Out of the bathtub,
Open another, toast
The rest of the world
Who have also lived wasted lives.

JASMINE
White jasmine fall
On a solitary red brick
It is January, the air is cold.

The jasmine dance
In accord with the rhythm
Of the cold January wind.

Their white skirts send shadows
Over the red floor.
I touch the twirling darkness,

Am warm in cold January.

Duane Locke
2716 Jefferson Street
Tampa, FL 33602-16200

[BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE: Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy in English Renaissance literature, Professor Emeritus of the Humanities, was Poet in Residence at the University of Tampa for over 20 years. Has had over 2,000 of his own poems published in over 500 print magazines such as American Poetry Review, Nation, Literary Quarterly, Black Moon, and Bitter Oleander. Is author of 14 print books of poems, the latest is WATCHING WISTERIA ( to order write Vida Publishing, P.O. Box 12665, Lake, Park, FL. 33405-0665, or Amazon or Barnes and Noble). Since September 1999, he became a cyber poet and started submitting on-line, and since September 1999 he has added to his over 2,000 print acceptances with 1,195 acceptances by e zines.
     He is also a painter. Now has exhibitions at Thomas Center Galleries (Gainesville, FL) and Tyson Trading Company (Micanopy, FL) Recently a one-man show at Pyramid Galleries (Tampa, FL)
     Also, a photographer, has had 116 of his photos selected for appearance on e zines. He photographs trash in alleys. Moves in close to find beauty in what people have thrown away.
     He now lives alone in a two-story decaying house in the sunny Tampa slums. He lives isolated and estranged as an alien, not understanding the customs, the costumes, the language (some form of postmodern English) of his neighbors. The egregious ugliness of his neighborhood has recently been mitigated by the esthetic efforts of the police force who put bright orange and yellow posters on the posts to advertise the location is a shopping mall for drugs. His alley is the dumping ground for stolen cars. One advantage Of living in this neighborhood, if your car is stolen, you can step out in the back and pick it up. Also, the burglars are afraid to come in on account of the muggers.
     His recreational activities are drinking wine, listening to old operas, and reading postmodern philosophy.]

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