The Color of Soundings

We long to hear the pastel touches hidden
In vernacular black that
Crest upon our changing shore.

Our relationship has peaked and no bombast,
Cymbal-riding discourse will alleviate
This disquieting soundscape.

The storm outside gusts in torrents that
Color the shadings of tea cup and saucer.
Lights swing with celestial rhythm.

The sighs and creaks in the timbered beams
Grey the atmosphere with mottled scorn.
Tossed pejoratives will never hold

As the whiteness calms the afterwards back,
Closes down the shivering glazed glen
To bristle wetness carved in stilted dusk.

Published by William Cowan

I'm from the East Coast, have lived in SoCal and now Northern California for some years. I've been writing quite awhile, published in 1992 in a literary quarterly: "Suspicious Humanist," vol. 2, #2, (20 pages.) Best job: fm on air personality on a now defunct station, "Evening Eclectic" music show, and a weekly poetry reading show. I played jazz and free/improv I enjoyed. Read Wallace Stevens, John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, etc. and commented on the poems. I have read once at a local coffee house. Love the Bay Area, wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I am going to appear in an east coast anthology of best new poets of 2010 by the end of the year, published in Pennsylvania. I'm reading once a month at a brewpub in Marin with a group of fellow poets. We read to each other our work, and personal favorite poems of authors we enjoy. It is a pleasure to share with a community of fellow enthusiasts.

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