Jeff Harrison

Patience, hounds

Patience, hounds, think of your joy. This bawling, is it joy? The huntress, it's her joy to have us despairing, rending and being rent. You'd forget the hart of a minute ago, an hour — what is a day's wait, to have Actaeon in your midst, his hand now on one, now on another, while the rest wait their turn, having joy in the wait?



Noon

Put your tongue to the drop yet on my brow, no ill befalls you. Gone too, hounds? The drop that survived the dawn of the hart couldn't survive his noon. What survives my noon? There's water yet, hounds, I know where there's a fount. Come, I'll show you, what better guide, no ill befalls you.

Jeff Harrison has publications from Writers Forum, Persistencia Press, and Furniture Press. He has e-books from BlazeVOX and Argotist Ebooks. His poetry has appeared in An Introduction to the Prose Poem (Firewheel Editions), Noon: An Anthology of Short Poems (Isobar Press), three Meritage Press hay(na)ku anthologies, Sentence: a Journal of Prose Poetics, Moria, and elsewhere.

 
 

previous page     contents     next page