"The Dry Seekers" Poetry by John Buckley
"The Dry Seekers"
Poetry by John Buckley
Over unleavened prairies we whisper,
Destitute riddles in search of a sphinx,
Random jacks left by the hand above.
Splintered raincoats stuck to our thighs,
Antelopes rampant on linear carousels,
Onwards we lumber, exodized, humble.
One foot sets forth, one sets forth a foot,
The other drags renegade mussels behind.
We are the fishers apostate, rinds of men.
Wouldn’t you like to swim for a little bit?
Wouldn’t you like to dance in the water?
Ladies glimpse and prance for a little bit,
Eyeing the dolphin who plays with the otter.
Trafficking motes near folded bazaars,
Bandannas laden with dustbowl risotto,
We lick turtlebeak lips, suckle starfish.
Straggling eastward pickled by twilight,
Following savanna-bound ashen shadows,
Runic in wanderlust, pruned of a lullaby,
See how we go, pricked by tales of a windmill
perhaps on the next hill, a sputtering pip
in livers grown lavender, loamy, unhomed.
Born in Flint, MI, raised in the Detroit area, and ripening in California since the fall of 1992, John F. Buckley lives and works in Orange County with his wife, teaching at local colleges and chasing the poetic dragon. His work has been published in a few places, one of which nominated him for a Pushcart Prize.
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