Isn't It Strange: Six Poems
Michael Greene, Professor

Humanities, Social Sciences, and Management

Isn't It Strange?

Isn't it strange
That you are you
And not someone else

Plugged in
With an electric cord
Just popping toast?

THE ANARCHIST AT HOME:

A DADA POEM

dada, she mums daughter creeps and creeps whispering dada father caught in the couch murmuring murder, rocking to the 'maladie moderne' one, her syllables behave badly, incomprehensible tongue his thoughts too 'aeggov aaa crepescule derriere le pastel les perforatrices hhhaa la signe le quadruple bregan aeaeaeaeaeaaaaa' two of them crawl together on their way home

GOING TO THE MOON

Going to the moon's
An old dream.

I've held that shrew before
Held her up in tatters
& kicked to flatter the sun.
Claimed her light as partner
& danced with my own shadow,
bolted shutters to the door & cried foul
When some barren beam spelled stray lunacy.

Going to the moon's
An old dream.

Alone by Herself

She lived alone, by herself.
She lived alone,
By herself.
She lived,
Alone,
By herself.

I always give you yellow flowers.
I’ve never put them in a poem.
You’re beautiful beyond words.

Yellow flowers:
broccoli blossoms,
corn straw,
buttercups &
pear skin

You’re beautiful beyond flowers.

Gethsemane, VT.

In The Distance

Horizontals slope and slant,
A land of many edges.
Distances lift back like
Landscaped clapboards
Climbing the Hills
& the skies

Closer to Home

Two-foot chives lean over
A rabble of mint.
Bee machines bumble
And butterflies kite:

everything floats in this garden
everything flies
everything soaks in the sun


Gethsemane I miss you;
Lord save the Sun.