Like floorboards aglow
Neither dream
Nor memory of tomorrow
Or red, or white
The fuse of all light
That is recounted […]
Author: Don Moss
Don Moss is a poet and author born in rural Virginia. His legendary book-length poem, DOMINIONS, can be read by contacting him via email at tybeetypes@bellsouth.net.
Another Box Of Pictures: Don Moss’s “The Sort”
THE SORT
Another box of pictures one’s to sort,
Decades lost in the attic … a light cough
Of separation, instinctual pause
Of action, by those who say little
Of themselves, captors unmarked, unnamed
By the sweet curving hand of late Aunt June,
Who at a glance of rippled-edged rectangles
Would have penned a phonebook of relations. […]
BEFORE HOPPER: Don Moss’s “We See That The Artist…”
Chill night duty: rehouse the coffee plant
And the palm grown from that Florida nub,
Now tall enough to search for its own kind,
Its own shade of green, resourceful, not smug,
Thursday: met Susan at the art college.
While she and M talk, you search the passing
Forms for a school-time self—weren’t you once
One of them, as poorly dressed, classes,
Dissection classes every quarter (or
Was it semesters chopping up those years?),
Aged lectors radiating formaldehyde,
Well past their prime yet clear. coherent. […]
POEM: Don Moss’s “Hawkeye” (for Joel P.)
HAWKEYE
(for Joel P.)
1
Wishing the now of captures lingered
So one might shoot again,
But culling the big twelve,
Several were set aside for next-of-kin
2
The miss-framed better-forgotten
Refractions of light
In cahoots with chemistry
Of that grainy time
3
Of tempered view
Fawning chameleon memory
The white of a face
Planed in a burning blink, […]
Poetry on Film: Don Moss’s PRO SE
Pro Se
Inside, that highly practiced part of one
Spoke louder with the intent to note
What could be deciphered by focused pure
Repetition, and details might amount,
Clearly point, to woven particulars
Of the moment it directed these words’
Tracing, as charcoal copies that headstone’s
Call to attention of the infrequent
Visitor, of the whole damned repeating
Rebelling wish to dig up, get out, before […]
POEM: Don Moss’s “Filling the Family”
Was that time for the remaining seven
To congregate: Columbus Day. One was
Not to mention Spain, gold, native abuse,
The Mariner’s deep red hands or his not
Reaching India, rationing sherry
For dead reckoning to a western beech.
Regaining course, the Santa Mari
Of this day was the same as ’24,
That ’70s coy pinup (sliced scalene
By three scissoring streets) in full display,
Its barbered lawn, its brawny steel front door,
Lightly opened by Ani’s quick, watchful
Hand and hug and greeting and fair warning
Of the sunken living room floor—very
So, so 70s—and not yet filled in,
Built over, tightly caulked and made a pool;
But, one forgets, there’s one of those in back,
Gallbladder sized or some other organ. […]
POEM: Don Moss’s “Shared Favor”
What if I had a brother?
More than one?
Just one—pay attention!
Younger, older?
Just a brother.
Patriotic, a war…
Blood needn’t spill or be shared.
Distant cousin?
Nor branch of some tree.
Then, an example. […]
Poetry on Film: Don Moss’s “Catoptrics”
[Don Moss’s “Catoptrics” is featured prominently in our upcoming film on Don Moss and his poetry.]
CATOPTRICS
When she wrote the play I knew
Things would change
By the power of
The fictive word
A tale of what was
Mostly not to happen […]