THREE POEMS by Bill Pearlman

Posted by: Bill Pearlman
Published on October 20th, 2015 @ 07:38:00 am , using 441 words
Category: Poetry


She stands midway between his
death and future. They cannot
begin the parting, until a
serene consummation is complete.
She wants to attend a theatrical
but the museum is closeby.
He is naked but must dress
in fine greenery to accompany her.
The others seem to be going as well.
The car they arrived in is parked & open
and the way back to the center
will have to assume a taxi;
‘No me bouche,’ she says, meaning no kiss
for that has only stretched his melancholy.
His unnerving passion was always too much
for her, and though she succumbed,
knew the heat was mired in the transitory,
not the enduring. That they loved she knew,
but it was never going to last.
And so their love would involve retreat
and he would mix his possessions
with his old best friend’s who too
had his memories in cardboard boxes.

Hope had hammered thin their expectations
and now the formula supposed survival
not fit or actionable, but purely
a destiny of selves once driven to love
but now uncertain how to endure
such wayward manifestation. Seeming
inertia had found its way ahead
of all desire and the question of living
would have to be simple, under duress
while still attending the Open.



He imagines he is not brave enough
to disentangle his maneuvers, his hopes
that saw through such dormancy & fire.
Round a thousand bends, over the bluffs
of such a vast landscape of heroics,
quick flights, berserk turmoil and ends
that did not regard the means
as anything but shameless dancing—
Now down through all the gaping ceremony,
one hedging toward easy withdrawal, another
game to reach the summit, exhausted
but giving it every ounce of energy—

Entered by god what would not charm anyone,
yet knowing triumph would be its best reward
the peak of Everest there to be taken,
just a few steps more and what victory



The woman is all salmon and you love her
deeply. She’s discovered on an island
where the paintings must be enhanced
with your own burnished feeling.
The old books include a first
of a tattered Kesey Cuckoo’s Nest.
She wonders if she needs to clean up
or is the pure worldly pink flesh
enough in any state. She provides
and is willing to be all. She finds
the coffee shop with a companion
and soon you will show her the boat.
Will this be enough you wonder
and you have to let yourself go
for this is the opportunity you’ve
long prepared for, wanted with a zest
goes beyond mere dreaming.

Bill Pearlman

1 comment

Comment from: Laura Greenberg [Visitor]
These poems have a lot going for them. Dreams are complicated and turning dreams into poetry has been a hard task. But though they require lots of 'suspension of disbelief', they are actually pretty interesting. Maybe a dream poetry book could come of some of them.
11/07/15 @ 08:20