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Confessions of the Silk Easy Chair
I'm staying mum on how two sweet, firm round things
A few hours past,
Yielding, tempting
Pressed lusciously against me,
Or what a firm pair of arms
Adorned mine as private armrests,
Or how his lovely fingertips
Sported on the front of my fore-quarters, drifting,
Or what a pair of dear little limbs
Dangled freely between my own two legs;
And what an impressive head that was,
With its sweet
Notes for poem on why straights should not ‘play Gay’ –
- Annie with wishing she’d never written “Brokeback Mountain” because she’s pestered to death with Gay men telling her how much it meant to them and their lives; annoyed, she wishes she’d never written it
- Rupert playing Scudder – he wishes he’d never played that role because he hates all the people coming up to him and telling him how much “Maurice” and his role in it affected their lives; he wishes he’d never played i
I sketched out the following moody Tanka several days ago. It sat on my desk, overwhelmed with thoughts of how to change it: alternate lines; different wordings; scrapping the whole damn thing. So this morning, I not only typed it -- keeping most of the poem as first scrawled -- but, as I completed it, suddenly felt an urge to translate it into Japanese.
An interesting impulse, for the translation "finds the balance" missing in the original, and winds up beautifully optimistic. So, here the
Tanka:
It must be summer –
The flies press against the frame,
For just like stained glass,
Their wings flutter to escape
The very presence of light.
Tanka:
My thoughts are worn out
By how temporal is our plane;
The things that we have
In the world are all soon tossed,
One tear always bringing more.
Tanka:
All the crowds are gone,
.
I.
No one has a right to a broken heart,
They'll try and tell us,
Cuz this age of Internet and A.I.
Only loves a wedge.
A heart that feels, right about now's, not smart,
And ain't tough enough
To force a way through when it'd better die
Than admit it cares.
II.
