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sample poems

ALL POEMS ARE © JASON BACHAND. ALL UNAUTHORIZED USE PROHIBITED BY LAW.

from "surreptitious singularity" (2007)

Rain of Ashes

The journey of the magi led them to a birth; renewal
We all suggest, historically.
Somehow I don't think our faith is quite innocent.
Any good Christian can espouse the noble language
Of grace, and love, and all the things that God is
More often we hack at each other with words
Always at the ready to tear a neighbor down;
Is it for the sake of absolutism?
Is it for better sleep,
On the backs of others whose sin is always greater than ours?

Better sleep. That's a cop out. Really,
God got it wrong
We are not beings of light, always striving for higher places
Look at our faces: Worn ragged with hate
Our souls are soured.
To kill, to judge, to rob the joy of life and - no lies -
Exhaust faith until it becomes another excuse for violence
A compulsory sludge in a communal trough
The best poison.

Sunday morning, Hezbollah in Northern Lebanon.
Here we are, two thousand years out from the standard of God
Self-banished in stupor and tears Murderers, liars, the worst kind of crooks
Still animals, slaves, of more complicated destinies;
Still absent from the table after all these years.

That Dragonfly Painting In The Bathroom

Day one,
I stepped out of the shower and there it was;
Awful, that dragonfly painting on the wall
Fighting with the paisley wallpaper over who could be tackier,
I curled my lip and raised an eyebrow thinking
How could my mother have such poor taste?

Day two,
Dripping wet, I regarded the cruel vision once again
Marveling at the artists disregard for harmony
The childlike brush strokes, scribbles, scribbles
Wishing I could toss out the quaint relic of the garish Sixties;
Dried off and dressed for the afternoon picnic.

Day three,
Pulled back the curtain to my lapsed old friend,
There I was. Packing for the trip back home, I asked
Mind if I take that dragonfly painting in the bathroom with me?
Outside in the neighbors driveway,
a boy flew his basketball at the hoop and missed; picked
It up and tried one more time.

A perfect shot!

Sine Qua Non

I split myself this morning
putting away knives.
I paused to let the blood scramble out,
And in the liminal minute
The light show, the fanfare, lasers and fog
Went dead, and God was Goddess.

She was unconquerable on the throne usurped
By overendowed bulls; mighty and concordant
Behind the scenes. Resplendant in silver, silk,
Ambrosia, she offered a goblet of tears for making
All things new.

As I drank she turned, and was all at once and always
A chambermaid delighted to arrange,
Prone and in the barest cloth
Undiminished for all of us stoking apathy.

I hoped to be a bird on her shoulder,
Giving no thought to authority,
Sold to the discipleship of possibilities.

The knives away and wound bandaged,
I went to the park, sat under an oak to wait for her call
Within the multitude of homeless faiths.

from "rooms of an ice water mansion" (2006)

Bill

He's taking a break from a hot day at work,
To pick up a sixer at Mac’s General Store.
The midday ritual for a lifetime
Sunk beneath a dawn rising to the creak of chalky bones
and shrill of the 5 o'clock quitting alarm;
sustained by the blessing of an ethanolic physis.

The driver’s window is varnished with sticky drool
From Bear, the droopy bloodhound, conscious of
Only his own thirsty strife and a garble of sounds—
"Hell of a designated driver Bill"—
from the old timer fixture on the steps.
And he watches blankly as his master ascends the stairs
stepping into the same river again and again.

Through the heat haze and spit slick it's unsure
When Bill climbs back into the driver’s seat
which creased greasy face is which
(an odd sort of synoptic vision)
and whether Bill's enlightened or troubled
by his primitive cosmology.

Stars Die

I pray to the sky and observe
Ghosts on platinum trails, in higher cones of time
Whose souls burned out a billion years ago
and know that
stars die.

With tools as straight as swords the poets of the human time
Made sense in climates ardent and disconsolate
Now banished to damp and crusting pages
I know that
stars die.

I love you now, when life is doubling between us and you split away
Discharging lightning bolts of blood, and feet like cold fish
Your fuel and light spent at last
And I know that even
stars die