doug tanoury is primarily a poet of the internet with the
majority of his work never leaving electronic form. his verse
can be read at electronic magazines and journals across the world.
collections of poetry by doug tanoury can be found at funky dog publishing and athens avenue . doug grew up in detroit,
michigan and still lives in the area.
At The Lake
At the lake,
These last days in June
Are like living inside of an opal,
For there is a golden fire
In the sunlight,
A strobe-like flash
Reflected on each wave,
A cool lushness in the trees
Growing slowly toward full foliage,
And there is a certain point
Way out the channel, where the freighters steam,
Where a thin band of milky white atmosphere
Separates the pale blue of sky
From the deep blue lake,
Out where the red beacon on the lighthouse
Seems to regulate the meeting of air and water
And marks that misty point where earth ends
And heaven begins.
In the supermarket
Where navel oranges are stacked high
With great precision
Like the great pyramid of Giza,
And Santa Rosa plums
Form a lesser monument
For a more mediocre monarch
In The Valley of the Kings.
I am the jackal -faced god,
A duster of old bones
And petrified flesh,
Who breathes the desert air
At 5:00 a.m. and peers wearily
Over the meat counter,
For a fleeting glimpse
Of the floating head
Of Queen Nefertiti
In hopes her regal gaze
Will fall on my English cut roast.
Awake Osiris to the sound
Of the Nile's water
And sea birds calling from the reeds
To catch the gleam of light
On stainless steel countertops
For it is the deli meats
Hanging in long strands from the ceiling,
Indeed it is the garlic bologna and hard salami
That unites the upper and lower kingdoms.
I have seen a vision of Venus
Standing statue-like on the escalator
And rising as if on the waves,
Wearing a summer garment of many colors,
A pagan goddess walking amid
The merchandise in the temple of commerce,
As a chorus sings and instrument strums
From invisible speakers, the melodies
Seeming to emanate from the very air,
And I am breathless before an image
Botticelli would paint,
Of fresco smiles over wet plaster teeth,
And I understand now the judgment of Paris
Was a no-win dilemma, an Olympian gottya
So inescapable and impossible.
This is the fickled goddess of bargain days,
The patron of retail sales that I kneel before
In abject genuflection.
Awaken you Muse!
Arise you Greek Poets!
Rouse yourselves Athenian Playwrights!
For I have seen Aphrodite walking
Up the marble temple steps
Wearing only one leather sandal.