David Wood, June 2012
Song of the Muse
I’ve looked for you on balconies,
between the linens hung out on the line.
In the morning light on a kitchen floor
stenciling the frame of a wood
screen-door.
In spiderwebs on the dusty shelves
of a writing desk, set
behind the house, growing out of
its usefulness.
In the open gutter, where dish water runs
stealing ribbons of sun,
weighted down in bits of food
scraped from the plates of children.
I’ve looked for you in shadows and shapes
and the cracks in faces,
mirrors and pavements,
puddles, ponds, people
and the moments they cling to.
On falling horizons and crescent moons
and setting sun’s silhouette.
In the darkest hollows of hills,
listening for you in echos.
In alley ways and cardboard boxes
plastic bags and newspapers turned over
and over and over again.
In the embers of the fire, I’ve waited
between the grinding teeth
of party people, stoking it through
pit of night, scowling at the dawn.
I’ve chased you bleeding
out across delta flats,
rolling down off mountains’ backs,
reaching for the sea
and salted wind.
In the mended nets and tattered tarps
and winches and tackle and tool boxes
on weather-bent rigs of fishing boats,
moored and whining along the wharf.
I’ve watched for you on the shoulders
of slouching roads, hitching west
with anyone who cares
to stop.
In passing towns, I’ve looked for you.
In taxi cabs and street cars,
I’ve looked for you.
In empty bird cages,
barbed wire fences,
damp warehouses and factories.
Where wind chimes play on
fire escapes and the deathless ivy
threads its way to rooftops
of potted plants and rotting mops,
I’ve looked for you
in song,
perched on window sills.
In tea houses and temples.
In barber shops and parking lots.
Brothels, bars and billiard halls.
I’ve entered them all,
looking for you.
Below the kites and trees,
on white park benches
where strange old men tell
strange old stories to anyone
who smiles their way.
In the folds of a drunkard’s winter
coat picked clean of it’s crumbs
by pigeons in the courtyard,
I’ve looked for you.
In the long shady grass by the overpass
where vagabonds write lullabies
and sing themselves to sleep.
Below the sewer grates,
I’ve looked for you where marbles
and coins and rings wait out
the lives of those
who’ve lost them.
In the attics and the cellars
and the backs of dead people’s closets.
In the dried leaves gathered on the curb
and the laughter of little ones who
love to run through them,
dragging their feet as they go.
I’ve looked for you
in shiny things
and dirty things and broken, dying,
living, littered lost and
found-later things
On the wet painted lips and fake
eye lashes of prostitutes,
staggering from lamp post
to lamp post.
On the tongues of lovers,
I’ve looked for you
reaching for the light switch
so they may find each other
in softer shades of night,
and become whomever
they wish to be.
In promises made,
I’ve looked for you.
Secrets betrayed,
I’ve looked for you
at intersections where schizophrenics
stammer through shopping lists
and scripture.
In the eyes of a child
on market street
who’s lost hold of father’s hand
crying in the crowd,
I’ve looked for you.
David Wood is a 29 year old Canadian Poet currently based out of Central Taiwan. For the past five years he has been traveling and writing his way through Europe and East Asia. His poetry and short stories have been published in poetry journals and magazines in Canada, England and most recently, Taiwan.
Feel free to contact David at: davidwood2811@gmail.com
