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    See There, Where My Finger Points
    See There, Where My Finger Points
    See There, Where My Finger Points
    Ebook136 pages46 minutes

    See There, Where My Finger Points

    By Doug Kuony

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    About this ebook

    See There, Where My Finger Points is a collection of selected poems by writer, artist and musician Doug Kuony. Written mostly in free verse, See There, Where My Finger Points is a reflection on modern perceptions written in Kuony's unique, visual, humorous style.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDoug Kuony
    Release dateJan 7, 2017
    ISBN9781370414796
    See There, Where My Finger Points
    Author

    Doug Kuony

    Doug Kuony is an American multimedia artist, poet, writer, photographer and musician.

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      Book preview

      See There, Where My Finger Points - Doug Kuony

      See There, Where My Finger Points

      Selected Poems

      By Doug Kuony

      Copyright 2015 Doug Kuony

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Table Of Contents

      See There, Where My Finger Points

      Old ‘55

      Weeds

      Still Life

      Go Missing

      Black Fedoras

      Saint Elmo

      I Don’t Have To Go Out

      Orders

      The TV In The Corner

      Giant

      A Restatement Of The Obvious

      Street

      Available Space

      Going Places

      We All Have Something To Hide

      Night

      Mirror

      Men Of Quality

      Of

      I Care

      Spanish Ribbon

      Touch

      Chinese Handcuffs

      Consider

      Darkness

      Bones

      The Sea

      Along The Road

      The Bridge

      At Seven

      Paris 1950

      Ugly

      Believe

      Autumn

      Voodoo Tacos

      November

      Two Acquaintances

      I Am Nervous

      Raised Against Another Day

      Jordan

      Death Poem

      The Stones

      A Young Man, Like Myself

      The Inexpressible

      Beatty Has A Tweezer

      Village Idiot

      Tree Top Flight

      4:45

      Halloween

      Critical Thought

      Walk Away

      Selected Poems

      Weegee

      Sing

      Shoot To Kill

      The Hurdy-Gurdy Man

      A Moment

      The Children

      Sister Aimee

      Death Poem 2

      Time

      Where The Days Go

      See There, Where My Finger Points

      See there, where my finger point

      Beyond the knuckle, nail and tip

      See there, where my finger points

      Along an imagined line of sight

      And out across an open space

      See there, where my finger points

      See the elbow, wrist and thumb

      See the folds of contoured cloth

      Along the forearm sleeve

      Along the cuff

      See the line of my intent

      Floating freely in the sky

      Of silver, gold in cobalt night

      Reflected glory

      Like the mind

      See there, where my finger points

      The indicator, turnstile sign

      The harbinger of what you seek

      The signpost waving in the wind

      Still, paling by comparison

      See there, where my finger points

      And differentiate between the two

      Between the object point of my attention,

      The reference for your observation

      And the object I’m referring to

      Observe the subtlest distinctions

      Between the indicating

      And indicated

      See there, where my finger points

      The finger pointing is not the moon

      Old ‘55

      Pablo holds the doll’s head

      The eyes long gone

      Crusted with dirt and sand

      And a crop of rotten hair on top

      It’s a find to be sure

      A treasure of a moment

      Already past

      The future is still uncertain

      But predictable

      People moving in from far away

      Families

      Some singles

      All strangers

      And each has a mailbox

      Set among the others

      In rows, two high

      Like birds along a wire

      Almost as far as the eye can see

      It’s Sunday in summer

      The new arrivals stand in the sand

      Beneath the palms

      And look distracted for a snapshot

      Their pale skin will burn red tomorrow

      The locals have long taken the best spots

      In the shade around the roots of the live oaks

      Talking in whispers about developments

      Beyond their control

      And pass the time languidly

      Waving the flies from their eyes

      While the children lay shards

      Of shell and broken pottery

      In mounds by the highway

      Three in a row

      Simply for expression’s sake

      Today the shade is the most precious commodity

      The women stand with their babies

      Wrapped in loose cotton unbuttoned at the belly

      And dream

      On the streets of Detroit you can

      Escape

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