Scott Poole: Poems from Vacancy


One day Scott Poole the poet discovered he was an also artist. Since then has created an art chapbook called Vacancy. Here are selections from it—poems and paintings, both by Scott Poole.

Spring

Perhaps all of us want to explode
at some time in our lives
but my way would be slow motion
like a cherry tree in March.

Sometimes I will hear
my name in the night — Scott.
It’s always my mother,
asleep across town.

Her voice
is a white cherry tree
in full blossom against
a storm front of eyelids.

It displays your whole life,
every moment a flower
wet with reflections
against dark branches.

At this point
any person can pluck
any beauty off you they want,
or just snap a picture.
That’s how it works.

Tip Your Wing

When I die
I hope every
I love you
I’ve ever said

coalesces into
a luminous cloud
at sunset,
on a soft course
over silent fields.

If you see me float by
I hope you’ll rent a plane
and fly up thousands of feet
just to say hi.

Null Descending a Staircase

I am of the sound opinion
that a staircase deserves
to be an independent statue.

No one should force
a staircase into a bad
relationship with a municipal building.

Staircases, to me,
feel more at home
lost in the woods,
snaking up a tree,
frolicking in the surf,
peaceful underwater,
or ending mysterious
at a blank rock face.

Likewise, no one should force
a human into a bad
relationship with an office building.

Each one of you is a staircase
a beautiful path,
standing upright,

rising till no one cares
what your purpose
is anymore.

Not Really Present

I’m not sure why I’m here
or why I’m partially here.
If you’re partially somewhere
can you have just a partial
reason for being there?

Like I want to half
get to know you,
maybe just the part
that collects lawn flamingos.

I like the idea of having
one flamingo leg tucked away,
a reserve leg. One has
a public knee and a public foot.
Then a private knee, a private foot.

There, now you half know
something about me.
Now we can be half-friends.

Do you have any flamingos on you now?
Can I take a picture of just the leg?
See if people online can guess what it is?
Is it a pink branch.? No. What? I know!

Cathedral

If you’re lucky
sometimes the sun
will remind you
the earth
is a cathedral.

It will light gold
the great columns of air
only tall firs can define.

Your job is to sit quiet
and watch the fog shuffle through,
offering soft respects
with its many gifts of veils.

And when the walls dissipate
the sun will tell you to stand up.
It’s your turn. You are
the cathedral now.

Scott Poole at EIL

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