Miriam Solan
Telegram
At once take possession
my heart openhouse
need your eyes riveting mine don't stop
your arms girding
dreams thrashing like a wounded tiger Help
want spills into a thousand rooms
Come naked all I want is something real
These long legs flail as willows
in wind's ruckus Take me
in a field of squealing daisies
there to strut my love a peacock green
No berry kisses every one a ripened fruit
What you want the world that old gossip
chattering through false teeth
Know I'll bite you with the sting
of a million bees bent on making honey
Listen hummingbird stumbling blind
you've a precarious perch on the edge Stop
Your song's an ache that makes you throb
Come fly with me into deep thickets
of birch-lined thighs to be consumed reborn
Things To Do In The Kitchen
light the oven.
wear a low neckline.
sprinkle pepper on the red snapper's tail.
breathe in lemon wax rubbed on the wood cabinets.
pull your stockings up tight.
open the tin of biscuits and spread on Boursin
cheese with herbs. take a bite.
hear the poem in your mouth.
stand on a stool to get the wine glasses.
let him help you down.
sit back on the high leather chairs and swivel.
polish the copper pot, let the handle remain dark.
stuff mimosa in the pot and hang it from the beam.
with an eggbeater mix 3 tbs. Bertolotti olive oil,
1 tbs. wine vinegar and 1 tbs. ketchup.
pour on an endive opened like a flower.
poke garlic into tiny pockets of leg of lamb,
spread mustard all over.
unclog salt. pinch rosemary.
hull raspberries and blackberries sprinkled with
sugar. serve with freshly whipped cream.
defrost refrigerator. warm smile.
eat and make love.
count the angels on the walls.
cup the little round vase made by the sailor who
became a potter, who fell in love with a Russian
beauty and married a pot.
practice making a puff pastry.
honest talk. lick honey with lemon.
hold the fisherman from Mouse Hole.
think of the stone at the edge of the sea.
stare at the faucet with snake eyes.
open the window and let the birds in.
look at T.V. antennas, R.C.A. building and
the Empire State Building luminescent in the mist.
make a cutting from the spider plant.
let it root and plant it. wind
the old 8 day clock and listen to it tick.
I Am In Bed With You
Foreplay, a song, we stave the darkness
like the ribs of a tent
I am in bed with you long distance
I will give you your party. My tongue
is yeast your little loaf rises
the mirror breaks out you are taking off
the sandy suit from San Marco
with a gondolier underneath
blizzard of words
we with our oars
your ribs are poking me meat hooks
they used to hang up children
the age is full of lies,
lampshades, soap, humankind
cannot bear such sheer buggery
up the annals of war. Ooh ooh me and do me
tender, like a phrase coined you pay
with your life
raspberries embarrassed and blackberries
I am in bed with you between a curve and button
is a little footpath that mounts more
than glass. feel we feel, feel so much.
no oyster closer.
the world
what are we doing
a catharsis: I am in bed with you
yes two million dollar ransom I am in bed with you
without coils of excuses
the slums are rising
yes in black and white tunnels
are being blown
yes the war is invisible I am in bed with you
our bones are crumbs
we are rolling in
you are wearing a medal for praying
yes we are the only angels that exist
faithless I am in bed with you
yes hark, yes jelly, yes site, yes
bullfire
America is coming
I am in bed with you
Picking Quills From The Sleeping Flamingo
This is the nude with legs apart
picking quills from the sleeping flamingo
This is her ball bearing feet
sparking light from the rock
under the nude with legs apart
picking quills from the sleeping flamingo
This is the smile on her coppertone calf
from a german shepherd that leaped from the shaft
buckling her ball bearing feet
sparking light from the rock
under the nude with legs apart
picking quills from the sleeping flamingo
This is the yield of the curve of her thighs
of a thirty odd year investment in nerve
of bull market buttocks, wound spring of a clock
turning the smile on her coppertone calf
from a german shepherd that leaped from the shaft
buckling her ball bearing feet
sparking light from the rock
under the nude with legs apart
picking quills from the sleeping flamingo
This is the air gun that shoots through her teeth
spraying her hair the sky up in leaves
riddling her pyramid of crushed almonds, fresh caviar
and McIntosh hips when the red side is up
the yield of the curve of her thighs
of a thirty odd year investment in nerve
of bull market buttocks, wound spring of a clock
turning the smile on her coppertone calf
from a german shepherd that leaped from the shaft
buckling her ball bearing feet
sparking light from the rock
under the nude with legs apart
picking quills from the sleeping flamingo
This is the cord runs up her backbone
with a dislocating disk of nobody's home
with breasts of stars that drip in your mouth
and soft shoulders of wrecks and people carried out
in the air gun that shoots through her teeth
spraying her hair the sky up in leaves
riddling her pyramid of crushed almonds, fresh caviar
and McIntosh hips when the red side is up
the yield of the curve of her thighs
of a thirty odd year investment in nerve
of bull market buttocks, wound spring of a clock
turning the smile on her coppertone calf
from a german shepherd that leaped from the shaft
buckling her ball bearing feet
sparking light from the rock
under the nude with legs apart
picking quills from the sleeping flamingo
This is the vine that bursts from her wrist
strangling her neck, climbing her chin
sinews rush out and doubt muscles in
clawing the leftover marrow of days
stretching the cord runs up her backbone
with a dislocating disk of nobody's home
with breasts of stars that drip in your mouth
and soft shoulders of wrecks and people carried out
in the air gun that shoots through her teeth
spraying her hair the sky up in leaves
riddling her pyramid of crushed almonds, fresh caviar
and McIntosh hips when the red side is up
the yield of the curve of her thighs
of a thirty odd year investment in nerve
of bull market buttocks, wound spring of a clock
turning the smile on her coppertone calf
from a german shepherd that leaped from the shaft
buckling her ball bearing feet
sparking light from the rock
under the nude with legs apart
picking quills from the sleeping flamingo
This is the smile of an accordion of mirrors
of unfinished scores of flesh that left slivers
of Jerusalem eyes of her father cruising the wall
for love of his wife died young with her Christ
for his mother and father on sheets with a knife
for his young brother with his head lopped off
for his beautiful sister-in-law shoveled alive
for his two young sisters slain in the wheat
for the dreams of his son asleep in the sea
for the long stem of his daughter placing a rose on his feet
threads of the vine that bursts from her wrist
strangling her neck, climbing her chin
sinews rush out and doubt muscles in
clawing the leftover marrow of days
stretching the cord runs up her backbone
with a dislocating disk of nobody's home
with breasts of stars that drip in your mouth
and soft shoulders of wrecks and people carried out
in the air gun that shoots through her teeth
spraying her hair the sky up in leaves
riddling her pyramid of crushed almonds, fresh caviar
and McIntosh hips when the red side is up
pocking the yield of the curve of her thighs
of a thirty odd year investment in nerve
of bull market buttocks, wound spring of a clock
turning the smile on her coppertone calf
from a german shepherd that leaped from the shaft
buckling her ball bearing feet
sparking light from the rock
under the nude with legs apart
picking quills from the sleeping flamingo
Miriam Solan (1933—2001) was an American poet.
She is the author of Seductions (Barlenmir House
1979) and A Woman Combing (Hard Press 1997).