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Poems by John Olivar
by John Olivar
Goal in Sight
as we dash through caution's
halls, their artifice draws
in torrents, our blood, runs
two starry-dead outlaws
to a purported goal:
a pool of icy black,
temporized, its cold coal
surface shines, drives us back
to belief, an all-fled
release from fire driven
fools, still sane and unbled
refuse, wind scattered in
formation, paper news
hollers of their flat, dry
control; veins, bulging blues
serve to unhue the sky
now become a crawlspace
for weak wills, and the urge
for freedom's battered face
to shine as we emerge.
Lodging
A lonely bargeman exits
the water, walks
through light night
rain to a bank dwelling,
wood-decked and curtained
Serene, even sentimental
he pays for his bread, and will
sleep dreamlessly
content to be dead for
the night, in out
of the rain, off
the river
Tugboat Race
Hanging by both
arms from a tree, I saw
two raised, two captains
wave, glance the distance
between one another
and sail off; then on
my own way home, I passed
a room filled with people and statues
--statues in motion, people
still, as they watched
the marble heads sway, their
arms remained out of sight
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