Dane Cervine Writes

Emerald St. Writer's Anthology: HARVEST

I have eight poems included in Harvest from the Emerald Orchard: An Anthology of the Emerald Street Poets recently published by the writer's collective I belong to. It is a wonderful collection, with diverse but congruent voices from seventeen poets in Santa Cruz, California.

You can read the following poems by clicking on this link:

Download emerald_st_dane_poems.doc

The Anonymity of Poets

The Meaning of Life

Every Wound A Kiss

Sin

A Rose, A Thorn

How to Know God

Would You Recognize the Truth If You Saw It

Becoming a Poem

The other great poets included are: Julia Alter-Canvin, Len Anderson, Virgil Banks, Jenny D'Angelo, Guarionex Delgado, Kathleen Flowers, Robin Lysne, Joanna Martin, Phyllis Mayfield, Maggie Paul, Stuart Presley, Carol Rodriguez, Joan Safajek, Lisa Simon, Robin Straub, Philip Wagner.

If you'd like to order a copy, just send me an email at: danecervine@cruzio.com and put "Emerald Anthology" in the email title.

Love's Lexicon in the ATLANTA REVIEW

The Atlanta Review's Spring/Summber 2007 edition is entitled IRAQ, with quite a number of amazing voices from Iraqi poets. I was grateful to have a general poem, about my father, included in its pages...

Love’s Lexicon

I spy my father in his seventy-third year,

pausing on his daily walk through the forest

to gaze upward at a patch of light in the sky,

arms held aloft as though worshiping a silent muse.

I should have known, peering down this tunnel

of dark pine & cedar toward the clearing where he stood,

that he was being called, that he would soon go.

But I approach as any son might, hoping

for a few more good years—

stand next to his slightly stooped figure,

massive arms still strong, pulling me closer,

looking me in the eye, saying

do you know how loved you are? And I do,

but cannot bear it, heart filled beyond

what such a small sack can contain.

Listen instead to his story: how he walks

pausing here and there to listen,

how certain brothers & sisters, long dead,

visit—assuring him there is another road

just ahead, that they will be waiting.

Sometimes the years seem too many,

sometimes too few. But just now,

this moment fills a space that could

only be called infinity, lasts a time

that could only be named eternity—

love’s lexicon imprinting the heart

with language only grief can bear,

only joy pronounce.