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 Poetry from The Literary Review
Minimal Sound
Barbara Guest
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What we are becomes a memory, the hand may open a secret lock.
The poem enters on tiptoe, climbs the terrain,
weary, it listens to minimal sound, the slowed
tree branches drawn on purpose, part of the same program.
Modernism
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The dreamer enters the room wearing a garment of red cloth.
On his feet are shoes of magic, they will carry him hither and yon.
He has dipped his pen into magic ink and cleared
the ordinary from the room.
We too, have heard the midnight chime and reached for our silver spoon,
as midnight stirs a coffee cup we praise modernism.
Restless leaf modifies his poem.
Freedom
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Those at the excavation who followed the Dog Star
when he wandered, summit-catcher.
The days are unknown, the night also,
ending its speech. Sleeper on the grass,
dreamer of numbers.
Day, night, horoscope.
In the dark
we recognize
the shoreline is Vienna green.
Officials at Rome have ended the martyrdom.
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