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ContemplativeAlbert Cook

Façades

Look, just look, at the façades of houses, Grey, brown, weatherbeaten, argus eyed, Less tall than silent, distinguished than old, Commanding the street, remanded by an eye. Like implications rigorous stairs wind, Decline, incline, some even plainly lead To privacy: a cut glass chandelier Hives, perhaps too dignifiedly, reservations, Or a naked bulb irradiates fear Of masked tensions to a gas jet unfed. Habitations also need men Exhaling their absence as underground Rivers in ancient time were thought mouths of hell. Into them too an Orpheus absorbed in love Of some past phase can as freely disappear. The door locks behind him and his rare
ContemplativeAlbert Cook

Weekend

Nothing of salience had the road out lost For stubbornly refusing a view ahead. Depth of the windshield through the noiseless miles, Green bearing in, soothed as it terrified. Wild asters second growth timber stalwart pines Just over the edge of the shoulders, red With iron natural to the soil. There I was Ready at any moment to turn off. A white wooden arrow marked the place. Thick brush grazed my slowed hood. An indefinite blue glimpsed through trees proved lake water. When over soft needles I walked to your door And saw in the eyes of you both for the first time A gay sobriety self pacified, I knew what you had to thank, and so did you Smiling toward the plain table and a big meal.
ContemplativeAlbert Cook

Personalities

I met a man whose whetstone was the thought Obduracy of will could masquerade As soft compliance and never be found out. He filled his unlocked living room with jade. The unspoken may exasperate anyone. The stone, however fierce the sun, stays stone. Another drove afield for the slightest end In a small car. He puffed the folderol. One drink, and I was cast his long lost friend; A second, and we were pressed to weep a full Lament unmeant for how a ruby room Could all but deep fidelity consume. There was a girl nervous over the lifelong Weaning she had fallen heir to. Love was a plum She thought she had to swallow to get along. Her sole terror the degradation of humdrum
ContemplativeAlbert Cook

Waking in Foreign Mountains

It is like falling and not Being forced to break the fall (for some time hence), So like rising, This arousal, arising in a light Striking through large crystal-edged squares of thinner Glass in a strange land. Water-thin, O salubrious air! Or possibly it is like swimming: I am a fish out of water who gains Through exerting his gills Ability to survive, Learning to love survival as he strives. Accustomed, I gain water to swim in Buoying up theory, imaginary water As the ether of Victorian physicists Or the heavy-air ectoplasmic element

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