"Words' Worth" Poetry Readings
Poets at the Culture, Arts, and Parks Committee
of the Seattle City Council.
A Gift by Rod Tipton
I have brought you the present
of velvet soft air on a warm day
after a night of rain
with it two women running
down the path the one in white
shorts whose name is Linda
(that means beautiful
in Spanish)
daydreaming about dipped
ice-cream the thought of which
only makes her want to sweat more
also a dog on a leash
who pulls ten miles an hour faster
then his owner can walk
and the birds with a breeze
under their wings barrel-rolling
through clouds of insects
free and clear of the ground
for what right now seems like
the rest of eternity
the day belongs much more
to them then me but still
it is my gift to you
so what will you do with
the mountains of yellow
wrapping paper?
and how will you unfold
this huge box?
I have seen your fingers pause
on such occasions your eyes
narrowing with clever questions
but if you will take good advice
as everyone should
you will not allow your new wealth
to slip away without holding
it in your arms and putting
its taste on your lips
Bar Music by Rod Tipton
something charming
on the piano
a rolling tune
to make you think
of a small circus
a slender woman
on the rope
agile, balanced
wraps her leg
like a snake
and hangs
in arched glory
at a dangerous height
then snaps and twists
and lowers herself
uncurling her body
onto the stool
next to yours
ÒbravoÓ you shout
and quickly check
your wallet
hoping you have enough
to buy her a drink
Unlocks Nothing by Rod Tipton
why are his fingers
so busy with keys
when he locks and
unlocks nothing
there were proud horses
in the street or maybe
just children dressed
that way
pawing and stamping
at the beginning
of a festival
I know you were there
I saw the tear
when they released
billows of flowers
and everyone cheered
and I heard your voice
too raised high
among the clapping hands
clear like a mocking bird
suddenly free of its cage
there were great freedoms
past out by vendors that day
and believe me some
are still good
but he turns off the light
blocks out the sun
and stays in the back
where he keeps
a small file with
square inches of paper
on which he inscribes
the initials of people
he can make owe
|
