• Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 120 other followers

  • Archives

  • The Just Poets Tweets

April 29th JP Poem Pick

Thanks to Wanda Schubmehl for choosing our poem today! It is by Timothy Green.


The Bending of Birches

an experimental arrangement of strings

the circles     stagelights    the outline of a body    of an old man outlined by a body     by a spotlight    & one might call that light a halo    but it extends further     deeper    & think:     it is written of the body this buoyancy like wood     what floats is carried away    this man in the halo    call him god    call him peter    he lifts his bow tucks the cello between his legs like a lover     like a child to bed    

& then his fingers on the strings     one might call them worn or weathered    say their move-ments speak though dull arcs    white stumps dropped taut from the earth     one might say:  whole    or holy or .


confessional    one might say:    I knew a boy once who hung himself in his mother’s attic     that this boy     so quiet in school one day became an empty desk      became a space to be filled     & maybe he still appears to me in dreams     can you say that much?     & maybe I ask him how it felt      if he was plucked up by god like a sharp note or if the world just fades out un-touched     if it blends smoothly into whatever might come next     & now dust motes alive in track lighting     the bounce of the bow      the whine of horsehair transmuted electronically     the cellist thinks to himself a line from the poem thinks to .


himself     I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree    the mind a private memoir     dark space     the old man bending the notes      bending his spine     pulling the audience in     he thinks to himself:     one could do worse than be a swinger of birches    he thinks     worse than the lilting of leaves     reverberation     folding hands pressed together worse than a four foot drop     the ladder blood red     face bloated foot asleep     & the way he moves     my god     the way that old man moves     as if he were the air & the notes he flung from his grip were the only solid things     everything else swirling    fluttering


For today’s prompt, let’s write a “green” poem. It could be about the color, the trees, or your Toyota  Prius. Have fun!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: