Two poems: What Jacques Knew, Skipping Stones

What Jacques Knew

Long in tooth and tempest,
Grasping astern
Huddled in filmy limbo,
Wizening the hours,
Consuming oaken melancholy.

Scurvied life,
A knot in spongy knee,
A splinter homing
With insidious purpose,
Toward futile purchase.

Wood and clay
Long eroded
Backbone rudderless
Weightless now
Left thin,
Weakness transparent.

Yet, even from that dark corner,
Against desiccation charted
Through choking salinity,
The hemorrhaging of everything,
Stirs before ebbing ultimate,
A final sloughing of sapped peel,
A blossom of ossified pulp
Upon a bowing figurehead.

Deaf to sirens' call,
Oblivious to yaw,
Sans horizon's eyes.

But, perhaps, sight is more 
Than what Jacques knew.
Up from orlop's shelf,
A crawling back to an age
Above the boards,
Bearing back to Arden.

One last reach 
Toward cannon's mouth,
A requiem of sighs,
A casting sunward
To preservation's end.
Skipping Stones

Skipping stones, a heart in flight.
Concentric vanguards,
day's delight.

Etched rings in blue, unbroken,
'til unmade by weight

So, reach arms, and spirals hold!
Gather love's breath in
nets of gold.

Line corded whole from
Fractal form.


Photography Credit: Jason Rice

Philip Lisi lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where he teaches English at his alma mater by day and writes poetry and flash fiction by night alongside his family and the ghost of their cantankerous Wichienmaat cat, Sela.