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Posts Tagged ‘Poems’

“The Money Girls” | Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , , , , , on May 15, 2013 | 1 Comment »

The Money Girls

Beauty is marketing to the
Money girls and they spend
With lavish precision because
Big dreams need big budgets.

Seal-sleek hair, shinning pumps,
Pearl earrings, suit and skirt,
All elegance and no sex they
Interrogate their prey with
Smooth questions; and when

Your answers satisfy they slide
Their treasured secrets from
Leather cases softer and more
Durable than flesh, click-clasp,
Showing what you long to see:
MBAs and GPAs, KPIs and ROIs.

Will they be content after they
Eat the world and don’t grow fat?
Will work and reward fill the void
Or just gild it over? I can’t say, but

The money girls will spend their youth
In acquisitive pursuit, and if those years
Go to hard waste, they can’t buy them back.

© 2013 Peter Galen Massey

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“Atalanta” | Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , , on April 24, 2013 | 4 Comments »

Atalanta

Who are you chasing?
Who are you fleeing?
Always yourself, who

You’ll never be so swift
To seize hold or escape.

I knew you young.
Speed and the race
Were enough, and

The end didn’t matter
If it were other than
The place you started,

And your heart rushed with
The excitement of victory.

All your joy was running
Until each new first grew
Smaller than the one before.

Then doubt crept in on soft feet,
Whispering of diminishments and
Bright days all gone, and asking
What you would do for forgetting if
You must sit in the stands and watch?

Then you thought to try a different competitor,
Matched to your skill, against whom you could
Run even – or a little ahead.

But the contest was length and endurance;
The pace slower than feeling; and there was
No end except the course itself.

So you ran again, away and ahead, toward
Unknown exhaustions, exhilarations; and
I wish you well although I know you’ve

Mistaken the task of
First age and last youth:
Which is not to race and not to win,
But to contend in stillness with ourselves.

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“Here’s the Deal” | Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , , , , on April 21, 2013 | 8 Comments »

Here’s the Deal

For love, God said, I will
Give you this knife and
Place it in your back.

Sometimes I will let it
Sit, a dull throbbing ache.

Sometimes, I will lever
You up and make you
Dance on tip toe.

Sometimes, I will rasp
Your bones with its
Rough blade.

When she is gone, the
Love and the knife will
Remain.

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“Are You Mocking Me, Persephone?” | Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , , , on April 18, 2013 | 7 Comments »

Are You Mocking Me, Persephone?

Every year, I grow more
Joyful and more desperate.

How can I feel my whole life
Depends on seeing the new
Green leaves of spring?

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“March Night, Florida Gulf Coast” | Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , , , on April 14, 2013 | 6 Comments »

March Night, Florida Gulf Coast

I twitch awake at three
O’clock for no reason.

Outside, the breeze is
Making the palms speak in a
Dry clattering whisper and
The moon is marking secret
Runes on the black waters.

These are no languages
I understand and tell no
Answers to their mysteries.

But they seem to promise
There are answers; and so
Assured I go back to sleep.

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“9 Poets, 9 Muses” | Baseball Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , , , on April 1, 2013 | Leave a Comment »

In honor of Opening Day — an occasion of joy, hope, and renewal for baseball fans, our secular Easter — here is a poem I wrote last year:

9 Poets, 9 Muses

The poets work
Six days a week,
In chill April and
Blazing August.

They dream in July,
Die in September,
But always live to
Dream again when
Winter yields to spring.

Failure is as simple,
Arduous, ineluctable,
Routine, and weary
As success.

What makes it?

In between, there is
Fidget and murmur.

The empty present
Waiting for motion,
Sound, dull matter
Now a temporary star,
Forty thousand eyes drawn,
An ocean of voices roaring,
After its flight.

The muses show
Me how to work.

They do not
Exult or despair.

They labor weeks after
The ecstatic moment.

A thousand victories
Booked are worth
Less than a day in
The living game.

Their hearts don’t
Wither when their
Powers fail them.

They are steady
And they endure.

(c) 2012 Peter Galen Massey

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“At Emmaus” | Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , , , , , , , , on March 29, 2013 | 2 Comments »

A poem for Easter, although those familiar with Luke will find I’ve taken considerable liberties with the Gospel story.

At Emmaus

I knew I was still a man
When I held the bread.

I knew I had suffered,
But I no longer knew
The reasons why.

I didn’t think it was sin.
That seemed a way to
Blame a bungled world
On those made for it.

I had known
The worship of kings,
The power of miracles,
The scorn of the mighty.
I had known anger and love.

But until I was alone in their pain,
I didn’t know what We had done.

(c) 2012 Peter Galen Massey

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The Welsh Poet R.S. Thomas and My Father

Posted in R.S. Thomas, tagged , on March 14, 2013 | 10 Comments »

Dad and R.S. Thomas, May 1993.

Dad and R.S. Thomas, May 1993.

Please indulge me a moment of nepotism and let me introduce my father’s new blog on the Welsh poet, R.S. Thomas.

Pop is 78 and joining the ranks of the blogging community for the first time (with me as his webmaster and digital media consultant). He’s quite pleased with his new endeavor and several very old friends have told him he’s now “cool”.

Dad corresponded with R.S. Thomas for more than a decade and met him twice in the early 1990s. From this has come a new book about Thomas, called A Masterwork of Doubting-Belief and published by Wipf and Stock earlier this year, which is “part biography, part appreciation, and part religious meditation” as the jacket copy says. My father hopes to make the blog a continuation of the work he began with the book.

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“On Seeing Rafael Fruhbeck de Burgos Conduct During His 79th Year” | Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , , , , on February 24, 2013 | 11 Comments »

On Seeing Rafael Fruhbeck de Burgos Conduct During His 79th Year

We clapped because we thought
You might not make the short walk
From the stage door to the podium.

You were shrunken and shuffling
In your baggy black clothes and
A starched white butterfly hung
Loose round your fragile neck.

But you seemed determined.

You sat down scoreless,
Harangued the orchestra,
Caressed the air, and we

Heard joy in command of mighty
Sound, saw joy in making, shared
Joy that sustains bone and breath
Beyond the endurance of matter.

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“Midnight, Christmas Eve” | Poems by Massey

Posted in Poems, tagged , , on December 24, 2012 | 2 Comments »

Midnight, Christmas Eve

In the church there are
Candles for the darkness,
Music, prayers for the silence.

Behind the darkness and
Beyond the silence there are
Mystery and Power and Rumor and Waiting.

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