To celebrate Danse Macabre du Jour’s 1,000th post, here are two poems from our esteemed editor, publisher, poet and man-about-Las Vegas, Adam Henry Carriere – from his book tiesse el air published recently by Bench Press.
A Grandparent’s Mist
Germans once preferred
applying steel to wounds,
while those lost east of Vienna
are content with simple morphine
addiction, aged like French white
in casks earning frequent flier
mileage; the pastel
Israel grieves alone,
stopping only for little amities
coloring the imaginary countryside
where trains closely pass,
wondering if what’s remembered
is black magic or a will of God
who secretly resembles Peter Sellers.
I – Wordsworth didn’t have cable,
trapped, as it were, by a mold-covered window
where wildebeests could be herding past
and he couldn’t see them for the candlelight
and all its flickering storybook effluvium.
II – Stairs wind in an intemperate brook,
grateful for harmony that offends bishops.
The long silence of mist and snow, splitting
milk from statistics in confessive lullaby,
craze the moon. The Nineteenth Century
and its reminiscence can at last reach dialogue.
III – The Rave of autumn, its match lit in shadow,
dreams in old politics. The wreath of those words
respire starlit incantations only the departed
can fully forgive. Blessed be their waxen faces.
* * * * *
Author bio: Adam Henry Carrière is an online habitué specialising in letters, publishing design, and instruction. A former NPR broadcaster, he holds a Bachelor’s degree in Film & Video from Columbia College and a Master’s in Professional Writing from the University of Southern California. He has taught writing at both his alma mater and for the United States Navy across the Pacific. Born on the South Side of Chicago, Adam now resides in Las Vegas, where he has won the Nevada Arts Council Fellowship in Poetry and publishes Danse Macabre, Nevada’s first online literary magazine. He is the author of Miles (2012) and Hi’s Cool (2013).