Ode To Feet

Doug Tanoury


I have seen poetic feet so perfect,
The very smallest units
Of patterned stress,
Soft idioms of Iambic
And drum beats of Anapestic,
That march across the carpet
In measured meter toward full-length mirrors.

I am the bard of bare soles
And naked ankles,
Of fallen arches and
Swollen heels,
Of toenails
Pedicured and painted,
That catch the light
Like so many cut sapphires,
All arranged
In descending order of size.

I have crafted couplets in Trochaic,
And started the heartbeat of lines in Spondaic,
For I am the poet of feet,
Perfect and imperfect,
And otherwise,
Of bunions, bumps and bent toes,
Carried within or laid upon
A pump, mule, sandal or thong.

At The Lake

At the lake,
These last days in June
Are like living inside of an opal,
For there is a golden fire
In the sunlight,
A strobe-like flash
Reflected on each wave,
A cool lushness in the trees
Growing slowly toward full foliage,
And there is a certain point
Way out the channel, where the freighters steam,
Where a thin band of milky white atmosphere
Separates the pale blue of sky
From the deep blue lake,
Out where the red beacon on the lighthouse
Seems to regulate the meeting of air and water
And marks that misty point where earth ends
And heaven begins.


A Wedding Wish
For Stacey

I remember
There was a time once
In the smallness of new beginnings
Where every heartbeat brought new wonder
And each day uncomplicated joy
I wish these gifts of childhood to you
Just as I feel them now
As I see you flower like and
Wrapped in white blossoms

And in my chest this instant
Coursing through a cloverleaf
Of arteries and the figure eights
That blood vessels make
Intertwining and wrapping their way
About my heart like snakes on a caduceus
Is the sure and certain knowledge that only the
Pure certainty of love in us
Is undying and eternal

So it will be this moment
Here in this church
That will stay with us forever and you will
Hear me whispering for a lifetime
My lips endlessly forming these words
Just above a Bach concerto playing
Sweetly in the background
And you will remember
The little bits of us
That never die


Astrophysics Of Missing You

At the center of our galaxy there is
A black hole so massive
Fifteen million of our suns
Could fit within it.

I tell my daughter: "I dreamt
I had a daughter who got married
And never called me. Aren't dreams strange?"
I smile at the sound of her laughter.

The black hole was discovered by observing
Telltale orbital anomalies of nearby stars
And odd behavior of light of a certain wavelength-
Now ultra-violet or infrared, I don't recall.

She loves him, so I love him,
But if she should ever grow to hate himů
I ask about her husband.
Courtesy and propriety first, I say.

Astrophysicists believe the black hole
Is the residual material
Of first generation stars
That formed most galactic matter.

"How is baby Alex?" I ask.
"Fine" She replies.
"And little Mini-Me?"
"Oh, Dad, he's gotten big."

This black hole at the center
Of the Milky Way is a primordial
Remnant of the current universe
And is a byproduct of its evolution.

We say goodbye and the line falls silent.
I hang up the phone and walk from the kitchen
To the living room and flop down on the loveseat.
I lay with head and feet elevated on its armrests.

© 2003 Doug Tanoury

Doug Tanoury is primarily a poet of the Internet with the majority of his work never leaving electronic form. His verse can be read at electronic magazines and journals across the world. Collections of poetry by Doug Tanoury can be found at Funky Dog Publishing and Athens Avenue . Doug grew up in Detroit, Michigan and still lives in the area.

Doug Tanoury credits his 7th grade poetry anthology from Sister Debra's English class, Reflections On A Gift Of Watermelon Pickle And Other Modern Verse (Stephen Dunning, Edward Lueders and Hugh Smith, (c)1966 by Scott Foresman & Company) as exerting the greatest influence on his work. He still keeps a copy of it at his writing desk.