Peter J. Grieco
Poems by Peter J. Grieco
PRE-DAWN EXERCISE
Arc lit shadows of leafy plants
in their shapely pots & braided hangers
project double against the kitchen wall
opposite the street windows as onto
a screen, where arms flap above a head
& fingers spread like feathers
stretched upon canyon air. Inside this shell
of senses, what consistent mind
comes into play? The harsh light enters
through the bay window prism
& singles out a common plane of surfaces
superimposing one pattern of embroidery
on another, crisp images flattened
skewed patterns intercepted by
the side walls, refractions in shades of gray
skipping as headlights pass.
It’s time to look the other way
switch on the trembling table lamp
& see depth emerge inside the triptych of glass
rich in color, reflections of my suave & shapely
side--
dancing now with three of me.
IN BED
with Calypso– “sojourning
in sea chambers”–Hermes is sent
to break up the party. Propped up
on pillows, in Mary’s bed, nodding
with Homer, making the morning fat
some Chelsea Morning of splashing red
sun stealing round room corners
she comes to me in her robe, white
towel turbaned atop her head, smiling.
Yet we could not escape such portents.
Cupid gets burned by the lamp. We
get hustled on Main Street by the flash
of zirconium diamonds, cut glass. A quart
bottle of red vinegar breaks through
our overstuffed grocery bag & explodes
in splinters on the asphalt–Phew!
Though just now none of that counts
when hers are the rosy fingers of dawn
& with every muscle gone loose
& tension slackened, in waves we press together
tender flesh & warm bellies, current
jumping membranes, new, icy
raw morning singing.
COLUMBUS IN TAHITI
I can still taste you in this cup
of chamomile, brewed on a winter night
in candle light, and hear your voice
raspy and untuneful calling me once again
to take up my poor guitar.
We kept old rites inside a smoky circle,
where none of my incantations worked.
You guarded your desire with stout antidote,
an apple pierced with cloves,
patchouli made to mask your own dark musk.
Peter Grieco is a Ph.D. graduate of SUNY Buffalo (1993). He taught poetry in the mid-nineties at Bilkent
University in Ankara, Turkey. He also spent four years teaching in Seoul, Korea. Since 2002, he has been back in
Buffalo, NY where he teaches first-year writing courses at Buffalo State College. His poems have been published
recently in Harvard Review, House Organ, Poetalk, Arsenic Lobster, Court Green, Nexus, Red Hawk Review,
Aquapolis, Folio, Fox Cry Review, Puerto del Sol, Folio, Heeltap, Poetry Revolt, Ship of Fools, BlazeVox, and
Situations, as well as in other print and on-line publications.
PRE-DAWN EXERCISE
Arc lit shadows of leafy plants
in their shapely pots & braided hangers
project double against the kitchen wall
opposite the street windows as onto
a screen, where arms flap above a head
& fingers spread like feathers
stretched upon canyon air. Inside this shell
of senses, what consistent mind
comes into play? The harsh light enters
through the bay window prism
& singles out a common plane of surfaces
superimposing one pattern of embroidery
on another, crisp images flattened
skewed patterns intercepted by
the side walls, refractions in shades of gray
skipping as headlights pass.
It’s time to look the other way
switch on the trembling table lamp
& see depth emerge inside the triptych of glass
rich in color, reflections of my suave & shapely
side--
dancing now with three of me.
IN BED
with Calypso– “sojourning
in sea chambers”–Hermes is sent
to break up the party. Propped up
on pillows, in Mary’s bed, nodding
with Homer, making the morning fat
some Chelsea Morning of splashing red
sun stealing round room corners
she comes to me in her robe, white
towel turbaned atop her head, smiling.
Yet we could not escape such portents.
Cupid gets burned by the lamp. We
get hustled on Main Street by the flash
of zirconium diamonds, cut glass. A quart
bottle of red vinegar breaks through
our overstuffed grocery bag & explodes
in splinters on the asphalt–Phew!
Though just now none of that counts
when hers are the rosy fingers of dawn
& with every muscle gone loose
& tension slackened, in waves we press together
tender flesh & warm bellies, current
jumping membranes, new, icy
raw morning singing.
COLUMBUS IN TAHITI
I can still taste you in this cup
of chamomile, brewed on a winter night
in candle light, and hear your voice
raspy and untuneful calling me once again
to take up my poor guitar.
We kept old rites inside a smoky circle,
where none of my incantations worked.
You guarded your desire with stout antidote,
an apple pierced with cloves,
patchouli made to mask your own dark musk.
Peter Grieco is a Ph.D. graduate of SUNY Buffalo (1993). He taught poetry in the mid-nineties at Bilkent
University in Ankara, Turkey. He also spent four years teaching in Seoul, Korea. Since 2002, he has been back in
Buffalo, NY where he teaches first-year writing courses at Buffalo State College. His poems have been published
recently in Harvard Review, House Organ, Poetalk, Arsenic Lobster, Court Green, Nexus, Red Hawk Review,
Aquapolis, Folio, Fox Cry Review, Puerto del Sol, Folio, Heeltap, Poetry Revolt, Ship of Fools, BlazeVox, and
Situations, as well as in other print and on-line publications.
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