Thursday, July 03, 2008


In dreams I go back

The fence posts peeling in my hands

hollyhocks with their spired yarns.

Lamplight. A scrawny cousin calls us in

free. I do not run.

The cedared doves ask

how much how much how much

They are fat with dark, with cherries

Moths beat out their lives

against the screen

Inside our aunts play gin

& Brahms & you

push back your skim milk hair

to read aloud

from books of maps & tourist lures:

o welcome to the heart

this old poem of mine was published long, long ago by George Hitchcock in kayak

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At July 07, 2008 8:12 AM , Anonymous marly said...

This seems older than a lot of the others... Somehow. True?

At July 07, 2008 2:12 PM , Blogger jarvenpa said...

Yep, as the teensy words at the bottom say, it is a old, old poem from my kayaking days. Good eye.

At July 09, 2008 2:19 PM , Blogger Jan said...

This is very beautiful.

At September 23, 2008 6:36 PM , Anonymous marly said...

Kayaking days!

No more kayaks? Just bears and books?

"Cedared doves." Very Shakespearean in construction.

At April 02, 2009 4:32 PM , Anonymous my said...

Hi there, Miss Jarvenpa of the World of Books--

I put some poems up by my friend Phil when you want to dip into a new pool...


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