POEMS BY ADAM RUSSELL
Carving Lumière
Shifting in shadowed rooms, polygon
Penumbra, dull bodies dark-pallored pitter-
Patter with funest motives. Framed
Light, shrouded.
The shivered bodies feign prowess,
Prowling about, carving lumière; lungs and
Lungs lunge pretence with blows of hollow hopped-
Up howls.
The rooms shadowed
Shift around, to new positions, the past
Remembers, itself an
Answer.
Skipping
i
Bowing there
in fixity
a bare tree balanced in time past
(not history)
and the tremoring
vicissitude – time to come – its pond-plops of leaves
its light
its rain
its light rain rumbling into
thunder
crackling above the bare tree
bowing over the
water.
The bare tree bows for the bare present,
Finger-snap of grey-gnarled,
Barren.
But in time past (not history) this
barren oak betokened fecundity
in
green flourishes, sweeps,
stood tall lush gleam beside the pond,
under the sun
stars.
ii
Time past transfers to present, to time to come.
Time past is not gone, not history: The barren oak bows in
Fixity,
Finger-snap grey.
Shifting in shadowed rooms, polygon
Penumbra, dull bodies dark-pallored pitter-
Patter with funest motives. Framed
Light, shrouded.
The shivered bodies feign prowess,
Prowling about, carving lumière; lungs and
Lungs lunge pretence with blows of hollow hopped-
Up howls.
The rooms shadowed
Shift around, to new positions, the past
Remembers, itself an
Answer.
Skipping
i
Bowing there
in fixity
a bare tree balanced in time past
(not history)
and the tremoring
vicissitude – time to come – its pond-plops of leaves
its light
its rain
its light rain rumbling into
thunder
crackling above the bare tree
bowing over the
water.
The bare tree bows for the bare present,
Finger-snap of grey-gnarled,
Barren.
But in time past (not history) this
barren oak betokened fecundity
in
green flourishes, sweeps,
stood tall lush gleam beside the pond,
under the sun
stars.
ii
Time past transfers to present, to time to come.
Time past is not gone, not history: The barren oak bows in
Fixity,
Finger-snap grey.
