Wednesday, June 2, 2021

Alice Burdick : Three poems

 

 

 

Symphonic poem

Piano virtuoso,
augmented triad, parallel 5ths,
On the Situation of the Artists.
 

In this place, poets were more common
than carpenters!

Guttering flame,
the light of a candle
on the sides of the tent.
 

Death is a celebration!
Utopian architects shape
facades of equality.
 

Shiny surfaces make me wonder.
The sound of mothers crying.
Animal families make the grade.
 

How come you never went into painting?
There’s a lot of painting.

As we get older,
we think less about death.

Memory gate-keepers. Where
does the knowledge go?
All the stories.
 

They are for everyone.
They end on death.

 

 

Reaction time

Close your eyes in the digital world.
It’s become the enormous room
of the near future.
 

When one describes a division,
the line is not always apparent.
Experience varies with one eye open.
 

Houses change and animals moved
to be present in the flux.
I vote for personal mammalian growth.
 

Embarrassment is a calling card
that breath and avoidance
emboss and discard.
 

Blood wants to change my name,
but to what? If there’s anything that stays,
it’s absence. Where should I keep that?
 

The best defence is no defence.
Just tell the truth.
How about that?

 

  

Something versus something

Cinematic smoke from orange flames,
slowed down ambient hollers.
Wolf feed, earbuds, the burnt offering

lures a smoke alarm. The good news
is we found the ship, sunk deep

in a very lush rainforest. The lighting
is poor for a lab. Illuminated chrysalis

a disco containment grid.

Momma whispers to Mothra:
You’re so cool-looking, pretty, and blue.
So bioacoustic, so mandala, so touchscreen.

The villains have arrived
and wish to wrestle.

Thus we’ll determine our favourite monster.
Identify the frequency,

benevolent and concerned.

You are cleared to descend
into the natural order. Here’s a decoy
to lure horror away from the family.

Disguise me and sneak me
into the facility. Big heartbeat

on the speakers. Board me
on your territorial boat tour.

When you crash a bad news party,
look sharp, dress well, and pitch it high.
 

You are elevated to descend
and be very intimate with the guests.
I smell wood. It smells good,

especially in crisis, the cumulative crisis,
the elaborate funeral. I am not

an expert in wisdom. In fact by nature
the smaller person. If you observe

Godzilla versus everything, you will
see that everything is not achievable.

It is fair to be angry. It creates culture.
You are very lucky

when you don’t care
what brings you joy.

 

 

 

Alice Burdick is a poet, essayist, cookbook author, and municipal councillor who lives in Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia. Her selected, Deportment: The Poetry of Alice Burdick, came out in 2018 from Wilfrid Laurier University Press.

 

most popular posts