Dan Frostman

Selected Poems

the drive to the cape and hyannis and finally stumbling upon his profound sincerity

i looked up Echo that was first seen at the Met. a few yrs back, initially, there were no replications but then came a page and another and more and more that i hadn't known about –with swirling colours around. i didn't realize how much i adored the vast simplicity of waves on canvas. most consider his life to be abstract expressionism with a small tinge of booze. i remember some liner notes---something like :expressionistic behaviours arrived in the deep of Europe during the '30s.

Pollock's articulate wrist of beautiful utterance i will never duplicate to any degree. beyond these canvas' you still underline my thoughts of him and the music and the poetry that i spoke then. it's always a surprise when i forget to remember to forget our times! to think that you could just stay here after years just pass us by. despitefulness is something that just comes to go. and no matter how much i still want to feel those years in such a manner, they aren't. soon after you did what you did to me, i knew there were reasons for your leaving me and now as i go on, my love is out to someone else, someone similar to you just much more alive. and once you were my love, but for now you are his and i dohope for you the world and maybe we'll meet again in some drunken absurdity where we can be aware of what we had and why we died when it did!

just a little stream for you to read since you'll never get the chance to plant the flowers around the signature of my words

so she wants nothing to do with you as the soul you are. stellavoloshin your name is enough to make rhythms come out from the blue. why in the world are women so beautiful when they come into your life and out back doors before you had the time to even know that knowing her for a day or two was all it was and nothing more than a muse for you to write about. why do birds sing all day long, why does the star in the sky that turns from brown to green keep coming over us, why does the soul that is masked in this life of mine not understand that sometimes things just don t work out the way you'd love them to. if words can't change the way we live at least song makes us dance and sing with jolly and as i find myself meeting wonderful people in the craziest of ways, i remember that she does exist, it 's just i haven't met her yet and i do hope she s having a beautiful day without me all around her.

as i break the case of brazillian

i begin writing purely on a stream of consciouness without boundaries, a french dictionary and montague's collected lie on the side of the roll down desk. don't know where it will go or who i love will come into. so i pick up monty and open it to page 11 on the first widen. i pick out a set of three words--2 nouns and a verb the phrase: "Dagda's cauldron swung." so he is the god of early ireland. his jug issomewhat of a silver colour or is it green like the pain that pours out when it sways around his hip like a mortal in battle? a pure metaphor waits to be heard. even a god couldn't tempt fate. the water swells out and ireland is split and god controls everything doesn't he? does he control how green my parents grass grows after my younger halves play upon it all day long and god i do wish to be that age once again for a day where my friends and i could pretend that we are the ones who will live in convey perpetually. Again, I take myself on a walk and an idea that you don't need an itinery, just you and the things you care for deepest at heart and don't forget your favourite coat that you love to be buttoned in
--just because

between lake and lafayette

between lake and lafayette

people love to smile

the stars all begin to disappear again

a sunshine whispering away

the rains that flutter by windows.

you have me daydreaming again miss lucy,

jeans folded at the knees, flipflops at the feet.

Silence in the air outside some

coffeehouse at the bottom of the hill.

how more beautiful?

the roses singing frantically

in my head waltzing around in circles

and it makes me wander...

saying hello to you

could be one of the great things i have done

and even though the words are never

as beautiful as i wish them to be.

playfully they roll off the tongue

i guess they better with age like a fine wine

resonating the palate as it passes by our lips.

and my god

its going to be a wonderful summer

if you stay where you are

and move not a blink

at 2 and just how the hell do you

dial the phone to call ireland. i’m looking at a phone# for the crosskeys inn (toome co. antrim) it says : voice :+ 44 (016*8) 91721 who invented the tele over there? is 44 the country code? and what about the numbers in parenthesis? so in milwaukee or for that matter the states i dial an area code and seven numbers. it s much easier to read a number from the states. It’s probably because it s all foreign to me. i figured since the report didn’t fit the premise, it lacked any such aliveness, i’d write a little about the outside of crosskeys. the picture lies on my desk in front of me and in between the keyboard and the screen. it’s so little and confident that it is on an old wooded road. no parking lot or is it because no one has been in a long while. but the ad says there is music. celtic, not popular, and not even what your mother listens to. it doesn’t look like a pub but aren’t those the places that are best? i admire irish pubs. sociable, and when alcohol is involved then those little nuances flourish. partly because of the wine, partly because i just love to ramble, partly because of my love for pasta, partly because of my love of the month of june, partly because of the uniqueness of the bug that flies that month (but i am afraid of them), partly because of my love for early mornings with sleep deprivation, partly because the better half of me loves, partly because of the smell of cigarettes on my hands, partly because of the mixed blood that i am, but mostly because of my love for you on a day like sunday when you brought me my favourite drink and i do love the way you left it in my ice box when i wasn’t expecting it

2008