Andrew MacArthur: Two Poems
Coffee Shop Poets | Astrology

Coffee Shop Poets

Although I never pray,
I salute you, ignoble companions,
in devotions to a certain goddess
before she goes away.

And what can we say
if our carnival tricks sometimes fail
to inspire—then grow old and stale?
That we were once at her feet—ungrateful troubadours
or sputtering meteors dropped by foolish gods
guttering on coffeehouse floors?

Still we can only stay—
for how could we go?
Drifting to our shoulders, artificial snow
collects, swirls lazily in the liquid globe.

Astrology

Twenty-one centuries ago, a solar-system
went nova in the Sombrero galaxy.
Twenty-one centuries ago, a Druid split a war-captive's skull—
the signs were good auspices.

Clouds of monstrous dark matter
consume billions of stars at the edge of what we can know.
All Thursdays are good.
Your birthstone is yellow.

At last, our windows open to warm summer evenings.
A waning moon sports in Capricorn.
Cats sleep between street-lamps;
an owl shakes its head and squirrels breathe.

You reach with hands bathed in almond oil.
When I shudder and explode
I believe it must be true—
our lives are entwined in this music.

Poet's Biography:

Andrew MacArthur began writing poetry about a year and a half ago and has completed around a hundred pieces. To date, several small poems (more or less haiku) have appeared in The Golden Lantern—a poetry journal with Buddhist interests. He makes his home in Portland, Oregon.