Poems by Louis Phillips

WHEN WE LOOK AT EACH OTHER, NOT KNOWING WHAT TO SAY

What do I wish to know of this world?
That goodness matters?  Still
There is no one to sing to.  One hurled-
About planet under faraway moon shell
Rocks itself to sleep,
Its scrubbed roots
Forcing their way toward ins & outs:
Nothing delicate about this silence,
Tho it tells & tells & tells,
Corresponding to ourselves
When we look at each other
Not knowing what to say.

 

MY WORLD, THIS EARTH, THESE HALLS

My world, this earth, these halls,
Obstinate with dreams,
& human drenched,
Upon which we prance & carol,
Our basic garments styled
To put on airs.

Amid grammars of seasons changing willfully
We loll with time agog,
These woods, this manor,
This low-born hutch,
Each is praised with gold-beating fire.

If I were alive,
What shd I add to the world?
A few bright, short measures
That the Lord of Dance
Might not be ashamed.

 

STATIC

The Past may be as dangerous
As the present,
So many places to hide.
Over?  Is it ever over?
& Memory perilous.  Was

It Baby Snooks on the radio?
All that whining
Earlier generation found funny.
Change the station.  Overcome
The static, Daddio!

Behold our new world of Shock
& awe.  Shock & awe –
My sexual technique 
In a nutshell.  Look it up:
In days of old, we'd flock

To Saturday double features,
Pathé news of the world & 
2,000 or so cartoons,
Followed by Gene Autry
Fighting underground creatures.

When it's over, it's all over
Wise men suggest.
No more double features,
No more radio comedies,
No Douglas Fairbanks Jr. hover –

ing over Baghdad.  Today a somber
Image for somber times.
I think:  Well,
At least that's one human being
Not dropping bombs.