Five Poems, by Tom Driscoll: from Poetry Convergence

Fern, by Amy Aker (USA) contemporary. Click image for artist site.

Editor's and Author's note: These poems, and the artworks they were inspired by, are from Poetry Convergence 2023. Poetry Convergence is an annual event in Massachusetts at Western Avenue’s Loading Dock Gallery. Poets write in response to a gallery show of new work curated at the gallery.  The event is curated by poet, Stephan Anstey and artist Nan Hockenbury. 

​**

​Fern

October, a year ago, we walked
the woods at Great Brook Farm.

Light through the turning maples
overhead reminded us of stained glass.

You were the one to first notice the ferns
down at our feet, trailside, translucent

the way they’d gone pale, so delicate,
become the colour of antique lace.

Fronds, not leaves, you said, nothing
to fall, no flower to follow the steps of the sun

or anthropomorphize Death or Desire.  
You told me they’d green again next spring,
 
You, the one assuring me, though 
there was winter ahead, a hard winter.

Passenger Pigeons, by Jeanette Staley (USA) contemporary. Click on image for artist site.

​Passenger Pigeons
 
The Inferno, Canto XI, Virgil tells Dante he should read
his physics book carefully, persistently —get past the first
few pages and you’ll notice how art —real work—follows nature.
 
I’ve been reading a book about quantum theory, am nearly
finished with the thing and I have to admit I haven’t yet a clue
about what’s going on. I do gather they are trying to understand

light. Remote causality has me stumped though. And math’s still
the language—for all its elegance—that can leave me dazed
with its stark, dizzying obscurity. I am not a man of science. 
 
To me one theory’s as good as the next. Hear the word ‘PROOF’ 
and I think of those flawed versions of school picture I brought home
as a kid—hair out of place—something wrong in the facial expression.

We’d keep them in a drawer, though I sensed we weren’t supposed to
Emptying out the old house, I found them, evidence of a parallel universe.

Indignation/Indignity, by Dina Mordeno (USA) contemporary. Click image for artist site.

Indignation

Just as there’s a difference
between innocence and ignorance
what’s left unspoken isn’t peace.
 
Place names never said, not without 
an echo of pain, pang of conscience
—Wounded Knee, Mai Lai, Abu Ghraib.

Hard image comes to mind and even 
as bodies abstract, compose, they become 
only, simply beautiful

shape and shadow, coloured in a light
beyond seeing, light nevertheless
known by inference, its disquiet history.
 
It's the one’s we know we’ve harmed, whose 
voices disappear and leave this terrible silence.

Beautiful Resilience, by Arlene Hammel (USA) contemporary. Click image for artist site.

Beautiful Resilience
for Sinead
 
Ice formed on the flooded plain
sometime in the night.
What’s left of the storm is broken

cloud-cover and sharp wind —gusts.
Brittle grass gone gold-brown
with autumn weeks ago makes small 

crisp noise with each of my footsteps.
I’m thinking of that singer’s voice
the way it could turn within a breath

—rage—sorrow—aching tenderness.
My thoughts can’t find rhythm—they’re shoes 
not made for this terrain—and, still, I am walking
this morning —cold air in my throat.
That sapling some distance off, one note, her song.

Trying to Speak, by Shannon Wilson (USA) contemporary. Click on image for artist site.

Trying to Speak, You’ll Never Know No Matter How Loud

The first thing I ever said to you, I said
without thinking; your answer, too, was something
about a mistake. We’ve remembered the day

differently. You always say it was some time
in May and I recall there being winter coats
and later saying your name to the black water  

below the North Washington Street Bridge,
—it was late, alone, the night starless
as a car drove past, rattled the steel grating 
 
at my feet, I looked down to see how its grid 
sifted the stir of reflected urban light and ink black 
river flow. Against the cold, against the noise
 
—your name —a theory, a song, a prayer.
—I’m not sure, now, if I even said it aloud.

Tom Driscoll

Tom Driscoll is a poet, columnist, and essayist who lives and works in Lowell, Massachusetts with his wife, artist Denise Driscoll. The Champion of Doubt, published summer 2023 from Finishing Line Press. Driscoll’s poetry has appeared in Oddball Magazine, Carcosa Review, Scapegoat, Paterson Literary Review, and The Worcester Review.

You'll Never Know, by Shannon Wilson (USA) contemporary. Click on image for artist site.

No Matter How Loud, by Shannon Wilson (USA) contemporary. Click on image for artist site.