Ode To Torpor
Glory be to God for the tiresome and tedious,
Glory be to God for tedium,
for no news about anything,
for newspaper strikes and power outages,
lethargy and downtime.
Postpone and delay. And again,
postpone and delay.
No place to go. No way to get there.
No reason not to stay.
Glory be to God for inaction,
for not getting things done,
for not getting anything done,
No huffin’, no puffin’,
just some of that slow and easy,
the woman lackadaisically on top,
the man lackadaisically on top.
Yummy, yummy, take your time,
yummy, yummy, I’ll take mine.
Slow and easy,
slow and easy.
Glory be to God, O glory.
O glory be to God.
from The Collected Poems 1957-2004 (Black Moss Press)
(read by Garrison Keillor on Writers’ Almanac)
-- Robert Sward
Sand dollars are not fooled. Though they are bottom dwellers who move slowly
and prefer to live under a layer of sand, they are not fooled.
Old stories still float in the deeper beds, murmured from one velvety mouth to
the next. About how they once fell from the moon into the sea, lavender disks
cutting into the water’s surface at an angle to populate the shallows.
When you lift a bleached skeleton from the sand, you may hold the remains of a
martyr. It may have been rendered to offshore detention beds, held without
charges, refusing to recant or name names. Perhaps it had no names to give.
Finally, its corpse is tossed back into the ocean to travel like a ghost.
You find it on the lip of the sea. An ivory disk, fallen from the moon. On its
back, the trace of a five-petalled star.
--from The Bitter Oleander, Fall 2008
-- Janet Jennings