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Victor K. Pryles

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In The Heart Of New England
by Victor K. Pryles

Sunday, April 10, 2005
Not rated by the Author.
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Recent poems by Victor K. Pryles
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           >> View all 23

My recent bout with a cadiologist amidst the dream of New England.


Nascent early spring New England Sunday
And I'm alive to notice the buds haven't
burst
They are waiting again for something miraculous but
what? Surely, Me.

A small wonder I hold in my heart brings them out to say hello again; flower them brightly again

(That man is a Doctor above me, and he will run a syringed jag into my vein, deliver a toxin that makes my body shudder while saving my life--look!-- he's smiling as I thrash popping a 'thumbs up!)

Whenever you leave New England you should return- transmutation nary possible any other way
She calls up all her seasons so grandly
that only a silly-billy would resist
Without the buds, which has occured sit still and pure and dangling
All in a world waiting to live again

The March voice gone silent at last, the ferocious bellow brought still
all throughout New England
And my voice throttled through a Whitmanesque valve until I can at last hear my heart beat within it

(That nurse contacted my violent artificial just now, she doesn't help me breathe at all and I'm so furious I think I'll expire on her---spitting)

What a wonder these mutable mornings, as they pile upon one another dropping me in wonder at how I missed so many afore
The New prefix of Englands' grand design
depositing me into her fold until I breathe so freely I manifest; so unconstrained, I comfort

Surely, Me. Gathering all the dust away and lilting at the lack of snow
Until I scratch a branch that holds a bud which waits for Me.

Tiny junior, still within---come out! Come out again this year burgeon to New England and wish me well
You are Wish, floret holding back! But I'm here and I know you are there, rolling lightly between my finger vault and cambered thumb dripping with small faith into the pores of my skin

(For six years now, they have depreciated the dagger that slashes open a chest; now they think themselves non-savages, quite clever to prop my organic cynosure with tiny incisions, instead)

What do you say little creator, shall
we dance together this year? Let's explode upon the world; not leaving until well late December, my mate
Don't dissappear under the galaxy 'til you really must

There is more to discern and chit-chat about bitty brother; so let us pass the day conealed User Guide to the cosmos
Your instructions as billowy direct as a seedling encyclopedia
Me, your reader,the one you've waited for, pulling the joy around each page until so bright and basic is your teaching I shall omniscient stand all summer

( I left the hospital on foot, and alone. I carried my miracle new stents for a trek to a train which awaits all survivors taking me on a total entire journey, all topical pristine; further words to tumble on the car floor and fill notebooks that lay there, invisible)

Passersby won't dawddle like you and me, sweet pea
our mission quiescent, potent still until we pounce on earth as powders lifting up our huge hearts to sing:

New England, New England your mother to us all
Patriot of the good souls with venerable best semesters to bring my oscillating meek,
littlest friend, into the slip of this forefinger and thumb




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Reviewed by m j hollingshead 4/19/2005
enjoyed the read
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