A Poem by Erundur Anwamehtar
Inspired by “warmth quickly colored” by Fred Gallagher
11/13/2002

A woman looks at me,
bold eyes, two glistening plates, peering out.
A striped sweater warms her body and neck.
I want her

to speak. If she can talk
to me about an empty cage,
devoid of pet ferret,
    or another odd highlight of her day,
I could be entertained

for a moment or three nods.
Her hair is lengthy and seal-brown,
a soft touch kindling my fervor.
    Add two mittens for flavor!
I want more

time to spend looking at her, but
I wasted my nickels and dimes on flavored cola
    (I blame curiosity)
and now she’s frozen, an ice palace I can�t touch because

she’s a merely a picture.
Another dream I can purchase, but never fully
own.

Categories: Poetry
Tags: Fred Gallagher, Warmth

A Poem by Erundur Anwamehtar
11/06/2002

I reached out, took what I wanted,
and left you needing everything
I can never give you.
Stop looking at me, grabbing with your eyes.
I can’t help you now.

Walking past you used to be so hard.
My heart jumped and fell
when you ignored me� every time.

In the end I gave in and got your attention
the only way I knew how.
I manipulated you just like the other boys did,
and now I’ve won the game.

The tear trickles down the mirror,
seeing yourself for the first time.
Now you’re free.

Categories: Poetry

Last Updated: 10/24/2002

The moon shrunk as it rose
higher into the sky
and lost some of its yellow
this harvest season.
I sneezed and kept going.

Now
the world looks dead,
it’s so pale.
I checked for a pulse,
and found it weak.
Perhaps hibernation?

“Winter is without purpose”
people think, and so do I
at times.

The Platte River was dry
earlier this year.
They say the rivers that feed it
starved to death.

Peanut-butter thick mud grabs
shoe-bottoms and makes a sandwich
with the pavement.
Water and dirt are in the recipe,
and the water comes from melted snow.
It doesn’t take a microwave,
just a bit of heat or a sunny day.

The snow prepares us
for Spring.

Categories: Poetry

Inhibited
A Poem by Erundur Anwamehtar
09/24/2002

Champagne bubbles pour frothy white
into a vessel set to sail hand-to-mouth
then transfer the passenger
to its final destination.

The crystal cavern fades
as a new monastic home emerges
and ensnares
the liquid for use at budding centers of thoughtless taste.

The traveler in the tube goes on in
aimless lemming style, because
in the end, nothing even matters.
Hours later, the system is still flushing
final remnants; lounging hobos waste away.
The journey ends as the vision bends to fit swirling porcelain walls.

This is why I don’t travel
in excess.

Categories: Poetry
Tags: alcohol, champagne

Inanimate Point of Viewing
A Poem by Erundur Anwamehtar
9/22/2002

Hope is the anticipation of things
desired and perceived
as attainable.

Apparently, I’m lacking
desire and perception.
Formerly,

I wished
upon the moon
and watched her remain
planted in the sky, constantly
orbiting, but out of reach.

Now,
a brief, atmospheric flame glistens
on the horizon,
bolder than a saucerful of habanero juices
while it insinuates demise of the way
I assumed the outlook
would be.

When the sun rises again,
my worldview ascends anew
tanned and slightly more
realistic.

Perhaps a little pessimism
goes to far
if it taints everything I touch
with sweaty, coffee stains and
dissolves
hope like a tooth
in Mountain Dew.

Next time you see me,
I’ll be watching cloud-
shaped puddles full of bright
ambitions and deciding what will fit
best into a holey container.

Don’t look
look up
—————
Ok, that’s it, poem is over. If you’d like to comment on it, click the email link up there at the top of the poem leave one on the post. Thanks.

Categories: Poetry
Tags: hope