Of Love and War Broadside
Posted: January 26, 2012 Filed under: Uncategorized, Poetry, Poem, Writing, Christopher Anthony Leibow, Pushcart Award, c.a. leibow, christopher leibow, visual art, broadsides | Tags: love, c.a. leibow, american poet, pushcart, salt lake city, Literature Leave a comment »Sepulveda
Posted: January 18, 2012 Filed under: c.a. leibow, chris leibow, Christopher Anthony Leibow, christopher leibow, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: american poet, c.a. leibow, poets who blog, salt lake city, Sepulveda 2 Comments »
I would have you hold me again,
but I am frightened.
The water fills the shower ankle deep
When I was small I swore it was possible
to go down the drain. Nothing she said
could convince me otherwise. She was wrong.
I need to move away from here.
My dog has become anxious
There are gunshots every night.
I swear she dreams of chasing the bus you left on.
She whimpers so loud, Sirius has started to complain.
I close my eyes and try to count 10 but can never make it
past six – I am worried that when I close my eyes the North
Star looks for a way out.
I would hold you again, but I am uneasy.
Like that muggy august night when I saw
a coyote sulking and wet under a streetlight
on Sepulveda. It was strange, no one was out.
So strange, you couldn’t believe it
but I shake all the time.
Aubade
Posted: January 13, 2012 Filed under: c.a. leibow, chris leibow, Christopher Anthony Leibow, christopher leibow, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: american poet, c.a. leibow, poet salt lake city, salt lake city 1 Comment »A bee moves back and forth,
weaving our names into
the early morning sunlight settled
on the window sill. Material light,
silken or liquid in its movement
reveals small dust swirls in the air,
left over conversations of your skin
to mine.
After making love we sleep,
a momentary death
where we join all our dead.
But unlike them in their dark beds
we wake once more, together
in the late morning’s
yellowed ivory light.
Blossoming
Broadside
Posted: December 28, 2011 Filed under: c.a. leibow, Christopher Anthony Leibow, christopher leibow, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, visual art, Writing | Tags: american poet, poems by chris leibow, poets who blog, salt lake city Leave a comment »Sudden
Posted: December 22, 2011 Filed under: c.a. leibow, chris leibow, Christopher Anthony Leibow, Poetry, visual art, Writing | Tags: american poet, c.a. leibow, christopher leibow, romance, salt lake city, Writing Leave a comment »Of Love and War Rewrite
Posted: December 6, 2011 Filed under: c.a. leibow, chris leibow, Christopher Anthony Leibow, christopher leibow, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: american poet, poets who blog, salt lake city 2 Comments »Of Love and War
“Sometimes love is stronger than a man’s convictions.”
– Isaac Bashevis Singer
1.
There are wars and rumors of wars.
machineries and machination of
singular dark days
and singular dark clouds that hang
like props above our city.
We shut the window, we avoid their play.
Hungrily we take refuge between
each other’s legs.
How comforting this is to us,
to love without armies or tanks
or generals of reasoned love.
2.
There are wars and rumors of wars.
machineries and machination of
singular dark days
From the narrow street, they can see us
wrestling with an angel -
the tugging of limbs and hair-
You speak low so they can’t hear
your seditious talk of love,
where my callused hands get tangled
in your low moaning – while I hold you down
to the bed,
my captive.
The occupation has begun —
your occupied body
my country of ardent prayers.
3.
There are wars,
machineries and machination of
singular dark days.
The soldiers are all leaving for the front.
Not us, we will stay
and wage our war
of tenderness.
They are all leaving this morning.
Give them your applause for their sad
theater, and all their war ships
and planes.
Soon
they will write letters home
which will arrive without them.
A few men will return,
return gaunt; much less
than before
with more sadness and less
dancing.
And when they do
our war
will have ended
with a flag of white
bed sheets,
only a little blood,
victorious,
writing love letters on each other’s bodies.








