Jon Cone

Letter to Edith 
 
A light went off just now. Not the light                    
of an idea      above my head, but a literal                              
light –    a bulb             The wiring                                       
in this cold farmhouse is shabby 

Almost made it, someone once told 
me       The words   hung secluded                  
in blue air    in such             awful      
trembling manner          as to suggest                          
complicity   with pale leaves                                      
turned over in winds          below                         
humid thunder                

They are small         
unanchored                   praises                             
sung by crows         and tyrants who                 
rule by tantrum           and proclaim                      
wood     from the pine works best   



               Field Event (2005)

 
                                                Caw 
                                                Cow 

                                                Caw 
                                                Cow 

                                                Caw 
                                                Cow 

                                                Cow 
                                                Cow 

                                                Caw 



               Field Event (2009)


Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
Pitch
FORK-FORK-FORK-FORK
______________
Requiescat in Pace
Anonymous Mole
 
 

               Field Event (2007)


               Under sky under cloud                                                 
               Blade worked into earth

               A clod a clod a clod a clod a clod                                                            
                         (pentameter is death)    

               A clod  wo|rm  a clod a clod a clod a clod


                              Caption: A Children’s Rhyme 

                              The modern day shovel is made 
                              Of grip, shaft, socket & blade 
                              Of grip, shaft, socket & blade 
                              Is the modern day shovel made



                              A Murder of Sublime Coordination 
    





                                              Crow
                                                                                               Crow 

    
                                                                                                                                                                




Crow 
Crow Crow Crow
Crow Crow Crow Crow 
Crow Crowd Crow 
Crow       Crow Crow 
Crow Crow        Crow 
Crow 

Jon Cone is a Canadian poet who lives in Iowa City. He has an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts, and for eight years edited the international literary review World Letter. His latest collection COLD HOUSE is available from Espresso-Chapbooks of Toronto, Ontario, Canada.
 
 
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