Poetry

Rebecca West reading her poem

Hot Love in Fargo
Blizzards Blazing

Artists Flush with the thought of
Summer Sun
Their pallets burn with spicy color
kindling Midwestern Hearts

   We summon each other
   to meet, greet, drink, eat
until we ignite with desire
   melting the frozen flakes
mingling like doves in flight

Last one in, turn out the light…

Rebecca West

The Spirit Room Valentine’s Day Fundraiser, February 14, 2008

The Great Winter Crow Show 2008

Poems submitted by Jim Fawbush

CROWS ON THE ROAD KILL

In a brittle fall Minnesota morning,
I sit in our on-the-way-to-make-a-dollar car
At a red light which never seems to change.

Four wonderfully sullen men
Trudge by with their homes on their backs.
One glances at the sliver of icy moon.
The others search the road for two-bit clues
To find the thief of million-dollar dreams.

They are about 15 feet from me
With the green light.

About 150 feet from me is a president's house
On the properly manicured corner of his world.

I imagine him breaking his fast
With his credibly lovely wife
In fluorescent-god-fearing light.

The eye of a hurricane squints on the east coast
And she whirls her naturally murderous arms.
On the west coast, the earth shrugs one shoulder
And bridges and buildings and beauties fall.

I am much closer to the men
With their homes on their backs.

In my rear view mirror, I watch the crows
Bouncing about a freshly killed squirrel
Avoiding cars in an attempt to survive.

Jim Fawbush

THE CROW AND THE CROSS

Last Sunday
A fat black crow
Perched on the top
Of the cross on the steeple
Nodding
He cawed three times

People sat in the church
Like the crew of a brick submarine
Unaware of something black
On their periscope

Jim Fawbush

WHILE WALKING MY DOGS AT RIVERSIDE CEMETERY

Ancient ravens and
Iron Jesus
Above
The silent city

Warm arms of the sun
Clutch me
(I have each moment)
But the muskrat skull in my hand
Frightens me

In the corner of my eye
A quiet messenger
The great mother of next moments
Clad so nicely in snow robes and wind
Did move naturally to the river
(The ice must know about spring's fresh children)

Sparrows sing of January
My dogs dance among the graves
As I lie on my back
And breathe

Never-ending

Ravens skree Dakota snow.
Some screech. Some tease
Rose hips out of the belly
Of rabbit road-kill.

They go about their business
Chewing husks of light.
Scattered chaff
Illuminates the solstice.

Ravens live in tether.
Why are we alone?
Sometimes a bachelor bird
Attends a mated pair

In gristle's joy together.
-- David Martinson

Snow and the Rose

Robert Surmotto wrote the following poem for the the Spirit Room's first annual event,
the Snow and the Rose, December 21, 2002 (shown here with Patrice Marvin)

Snow and the Rose

In this bleak season
memory climbs a ladder of thorns
in search of the rose
that burned in the house of summer.

Under unanimous shadows
where moon defeats sun
and winter's slumlord
allows no familiar flower to be born

we can only imagine your velvet touch
your full-blown whisper of passion
the fragrance that casts a spell on lovers.

Paused like dancers in crystal light
we wait for the music to begin again,
for the magnificent storm of your return.