Harry Wooler

Three Poems

wooler

Account of a City

The drivers working the main station
have stories of worse years, but still the cold
succeeds in impressing most visitors.
Besides the climate,
much is made in guidebooks
of the distinctive, long-cheeked physiognomies
of local women,
and the peculiarities of the dialect.

Approached by plane at night
a thread of light bodying through low cloud
is the first suggestion of a city.
This is the road
that ties the capital to the coast.
Without it, there would be no city.

On particularly cold days
they call it “cold to the roots”
by which is meant both the roots of trees
and of teeth.

Balloonist

My supposed cargo is only ballast.
Flight’s purpose
is other than payment.

On touchdown, my lips
are untouched by champagne.
My business is flame, rope,
and lift of fattened silk.

Acquaintances 4

All the novelists I know
are turning thirty;
now are teachers and marketeers.
Some smoke cigarettes, or entertain

political beliefs.

One of the novelists I know
is fond on Saturdays
of a chair by his south-facing window.
He likes it that
you need both dust and light
to see either.

 

Harry Wooler works in marketing. More of his poetry can be found here: anomalousmaterials.silvrback.com.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s