Selected New Poems
of
William Marr

the wind can no longer hold its breath
butterflies impatiently open and close their wings
restless bees fly around
humming louder and louder
yet the brush
just won't come down

they don't realize the flower
is presently engaged in a fierce struggle
with a blooming face
for a vantage in the painter's eyes
any inadvertent stroke
will certainly bring an accusation
of being partial
and heartless

fire-burned water-soaked
rain-beaten wind-swiped
this little shiny pebble
lies on a sunlit road
quietly awaits
a playful little foot
to kick it
onward

from this height
all look so small
like ants

if not because of the threatening clouds
and the guards
I might have raised both my arms
and proudly announced to the world
TODAY
I TOO
AM STANDING TALL

a red face
so flushed with self-righteousness
eventually needs to be washed
with redder blood
of others

gentle and affectionate
she loves to rub herself
against my feet
then follows me meow meow everywhere
and slips her innocent tail
underneath my unwary sole

just to show me
her raging back and fierce teeth
a roar that transforms mountains and rivers
the true color of a ferocious tiger

lying back to back
on a plate
an orange
and a banana
each dreams
its own dream

Cezanne comes over
gives the banana
a half turn
its graceful inner curve now
embraces the orange's plumpness

suddenly the air softens
the color fluid
and rich

the bloody mutilated
terror
dug up from the ruins
by an excavator
still lies there
trembling

with intensity
exceeding the Richter scale
its epicenter
right over our heart

so much pent-up sorrow
so many beer cans popping
and the world froths
and the world overflows

leaping upward
it finds plenty of room
in the world above

smothering lush green
opens up
and brightens

the irrepressible joy of life
bouncing up and down
like a spring

we really didn't care much
the collapse of the Twin Towers
nor the Pentagon turning into a Tetragon
but when thousands of innocent lives
were agonizing in the flames
we frantically tried to dial for help
from Allah or whichever God

there might not be anyone
on the other end

gone are days
of bees and butterflies

looking up at white clouds roaming the open sky
the wanderer gives out a hearty laugh
amidst the wild geese calls
then strides away

before he could consult a lawyer
he absentmindedly put his seal on her lips

then he saw her equivocal smile
and suddenly realized
on the back of every contract
there's always the fine print

looking silently into each other's eyes
we find the entrance
to a gallery's deep corridor

on display are portraits
of our souls
transcendent, beyond desire

not until swooped up by a curled tongue
did he realize that he was an insect

snug in a corner of the stomach
he imagines a little silver toad
in the silvery moonlight outside
setting up a death trap
with her thin moist tongue
patiently waiting for him
from thousands of miles away
to fly home

such commotion
it can only be
first love

I don't recall ever seeing
so fresh a green

to say that your smile
lights up the whole garden
is of course an exaggeration

but I did indeed see
a flower bloom
at your approach

after thinking the matter through
the apple gracefully let itself go

bang!

it landed right on the head
of Mr. Newton
dozing under the tree

knowing it's impossible
he still joyfully raises his hand
and reaches for the stars

this is the only posture
that does not require him to stand
on tiptoe

every thread
flashes
the message of life
beautifully simple

while a fly
tries desperately
to decode
online

in this postmodern time of
deconstructed sky
and earth
he still employs the traditional technique
pouring reds and yellows
over mountains and plains
to become a modern painting of autumn
brilliant, harmonious and full of meaning
astonishing us
one more time

throw a shiny stone
at the dark universe

millions of light years later
someone might hear
a clang
when it touches bottom

only after its wooden roof had rotted
and collapsed
allowing the marble pillars to emerge
and prop up the sky
was the temple complete

trying to uphold something
trying to greet something
when the wind comes

but the shouts of the sixties are silent
the threatening fists now as tame as sheep

when the wind dies down
the restless hands drop
and become listless

from every angle
I tried to capture your bright smiles
for a colorful dream

overexposed
the images overlapped
and I had a sweet dark sleep
till dawn

ambitious politicians
will mass reproduce themselves
to gather votes

and once in power
they will, without doubt, eliminate
their blood replicas
knowing full well
that they are every cell
as power hungry
as themselves

no good no good no good

shaking violently his head
the artist whitens his canvas
for a fresh start

tender green
just a test stroke

At last
he can call
the clouds the birds the squirrels the flowers the trees
and millions of other things
by their first names
as now he too
is qualified for membership
in ANRB
the Association of Never-Retired Beings

the candle flickers near the end of the story
shadows on the walls stretch then shrink
swaying right, left, back and forth
together we move closer to each other
behind us the windows creak
(are the ghosts too
moved by their own sad stories? )

suddenly I am startled
by the touch of something
someone's cold little hand

Sometimes they shoot
a limping horse
just to keep
the cavalier's image
straight
and
upright

young at heart
the old sun
once in a while
likes to put on
his mischievous black mask
just to scare
the superstitious, jittery
shadows

not knowing
we now keep shadows
safely in a world of virtual reality
where we eat and drink
race our cars
make love
all without benefit
of a single ray
of sunlight

You can call me
a jaywalker if you like
but I must get to the other side
of your road
that divides our woods

When your overspeed rams
into my underestimate
you passionately kiss my bones
with your bumper
and I, in return, wash
your windshield
with my blood

Then you step on your gas
and are gone
while I gather all my might
for a final leap, trying in vain
to admire
for the last time, the brilliance
of the yellow sign

so delicate
so vulnerable
in a chamber
deep in the high mountains

alone

there's got to be a sign
guarding
this little girl
of God

NO DINOSAURS ALLOWED
NO NOISY TOURISTS ALLOWED