House in Motion

By Paul Callaway

Paul Callaway brings you his first book of poems and prose in a collection that he's ever so slowly grown since he started writing poetry in 2001. Most of his poems are personal in nature, depicting moments plucked from childhood to present, from work life to love life, and everything in between. With a charm, wit and cynicism unique to him, Callaway puts a little bit of himself into each poem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Callaway
• Release date: Oct 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466197039

Book preview

I

My thoughts are feeling a bit restless today

so if someone would point the way I think I’ll get going.

Charles Heilige

*****

tourist

Where to? Where to?

Where to in this wonderful land?

Drag me through your hills. Your valleys.

Draw me into your beautiful eyes.

I won’t mind-

Which way? Which way?

Which way to your meadowy vista?

Cart my curiosity across your countryside.

Cradle my love in your open arms.

I won’t mind-

What now? What now?

I’ve been this way twice over.

My devotion is driven like a tourist

returning to his favorite love.

I don’t mind-

What now? What now?

I’ve been this way thrice over.

Your every curve mapped with kisses.

Each kiss an old experience made to feel new.

I don’t mind.

*****

charity

Somewhere on the flanks of the city,

perhaps in the gentle descending streets

of downtown, as though poised on the verge of

discovery, a bounty of silver-copper diversity

lies pooled in charity along a water fountain’s floor,

glistening under the softly churning surface

like so many pocketful of forgotten

wishes waiting to be

1) collected

2) cashed

3) honored

In those summer time odysseys pedalled by youthful

enthusiasm atop an orange Schwinn

complete with a banana seat and ape bars,

I happened to make good on 2 out of 3 for them.

*****

disloyalty

Disloyalty is such a strong poison

that one drop, just one little drop

on a dogs tongue will kill the strongest man.

So it’s best to keep it bottled for a special day

and use it sparingly.

*****

a hard cold morning

A hard cold morning is what I remember most,

the frozen ground’s snowy ghost

crunching its wintery protest

under my every foot step,

and the night sharpened air

instantly biting at my ears

while the dry Februariness

does its best

to displace my breathing

with coughing.

Yet I kept walking,

my brother following

behind me, completing

our two soul convoy of silence - nothing spoken,

while ahead Pepper lies broken,

her time with us expiring during the night,

her body covered in a light

dust of white

snow and the yellow

glow

of the back porch light.

Brown eyes, still open and warm, seem to toast

us her final thanks, but

a hard cold morning is what I still remember most.

*****

masking tape on the bedroom floor

The math

was simple, even for a couple of kids

constantly fighting against the odds.

A path

you might say, to establish the order

of living arrangements between two brothers.

A dresser,

your bed and a narrow pathway to the door.

The rest is mine. Oh, spacious space galore!

What better

way to sum up our sibling relationship

than simple