At the beginning of 1996, I found myself fortunate enough to begin writing full-time. My first play, a full length verse drama, premiered in Madison, Wisconsin. I have written several children's stories in verse. I also continue to write and submit poetry for publication in literary magazines. And finally I am trying my hand at a novel.

--Larry Buzecky


The Book of Rage is shut now, brother,
each burning golden word extinguished
that was you; you cannot be distinguished
from emptiness upon which flares
your after image, then another,
snapping like a hunterís covered snares.
Youíre proof, dead word, doomís match head strikes
Our wooden world without a hiss
and leaves them ash and wilderness.
Wordmaker, do what doom dislikes;
rename his bliss of bitterness
with ancient alphabetic art.
With water on Your lips impart
a newborn name for him, Your kiss.

Copyright © Larry Buzecky, 1996

Lion Attacking a Horse

Against the animal blocks
of black cliffs and the black
thunderheads of a rock tree,
the horse lightning,
six claws illuminated sharp.

As if rock had sprung out, biting
As if a cloud, twisting its muscular neck screamed.

Beyond the hooked, disabled leg,
darkness deepens and ascends at once,
enough light, just enough to sweep pale
grass on a far, whited hill,
enough to prefigure ruin
and the eyeless lion fed.

Copyright © 1996 by Larry Buzecky


They kept their distance while I skulked
Up close to look. Instead they sulked
around the rock or pawed the ground.
Pushing branches aside, which wound
around my fingers and pushed back,
I formed between their leaves a crack;
the goddess bathed, growling a white
expression of her brute delight.

With dogís base instinct long I gazed
at bare nature. Then nature grazed
her crescent eyes against my own.
Split wide, my feet grew stumps like bone.
Splitting, my skin bristled. Offense
most queer, I felt my skull condense
and shatter, spiked my roots below.
I screamed a note the hunterís blow.

My dogs come now; they sniff and keen
at instinct damned by natureís queen.

Copyright © Larry Buzecky, 1996

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