A Ritual To Read To Each Other
If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.
For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.
Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty)
a girl who keeps slipping off,
arms limp as old carrots,
into the hypnotist's trance,
into a spirit world
speaking with the gift of tongues.
She is stuck in the time machine,
suddenly two years old sucking her thumb,
as inward as a snail,
learning to talk again.
The Hound Of Heaven
I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
I hid from him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped and shot precipitated
Adown titanic glooms of chasme d hears
From those strong feet that followed, followed after
But with unhurrying chase and unperturbe d pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
. Walking Wounded
Somewhere, sometime, you were Wounded
Maybe as early as infancy when you were denied
All the essentials of the bonding experience
Perhaps the wounds were inflicted
When another toddler refused to return the toy you readily shared
Or by the mean girl who broke your favorite colored crayon
Or the bully who pushed you on the playground
Or perhaps it happened that first time
Someone more sophisticated, though lacking empathy,
Assailed your ears with a course laughter,
*** Take Me With You ***
Dusk chasing the lazy dawn
Sounds of angry skies deafening
Lightning, like a giant snapshot
Blinding your eyes to madness
Rains fiercely flooding the downhill pond
The slippery path ruining
Mind halts desires getting bold
Vision cuffs to the onus
I saw you standing near to Heaven pane
**** Love Bloodbath ***
Bang! Bang! And the head splits open
Like a work of Art
Mushroom pie painted in red
Human form has transformed into mincemeats
The lethargy of weakened love drumming
The urges to end creation
To end lives
A tragic you’d say
A conflict we’d delay
Shall not thou betrayal
Wax And Wane
Myth has it that the riches of the rich are good for all the people
And such a fable has got so many performances that it’s easy
To be swayed into thinking that it’s just the truth.
But when I see the eyes of the poor, aloof in their bare poverty,
And I compare their gazes with the personal greed and moral
Shamelessness of most of the rich, I feel disgust rise inside my soul
And I feel I share the closest brotherhood with the poorest of the poor.
Will I ever describe all this? Maybe I do, but you have to listen to me:
Do you give yourself to me utterly,
Body and no-body, flesh and no-flesh
Not as a fugitive, blindly or bitterly,
But as a child might, with no other wish?
So this is it….
I finally found out the truth
Never expected it from you! ! !
I thought you were my friend….
But you weren’t….
You were just using me just like you used all the other people…
For your own selfish reasons…
I always thought those people who left your friendship were wrong! !
But no, what I thought was wrong! !
I’m never gonna forgive you…
In Memoriam M.K.H., 1911-1984
She taught me what her uncle once taught her:
How easily the biggest coal block split
If you got the grain and the hammer angled right.
The sound of that relaxed alluring blow
Its co-opted and obliterated echo,
Taught me to hit, taught me to loosen,
Good day to thee my worthless friend, I see you've shown your full intent
While others rally to defend, no one knows where you went
Hello to thee my part time chum, I see you fled the dragons lair
While former friends die one by one, they turn for help but you're not there
Greetings to thee my life long mate, we trusted you with all our hearts
We remembered you in final thoughts, as we watched ourselves get ripped apart
Goodbye to you fair-weather friend, was good until you turned and fled
Think of us from time to time, the ones you loved then left for dead
War is no longer declared,
only continued. The monstrous
has become everyday. The hero
stays away from battle. The weak
have gone to the front.
The uniform of the day is patience,
its medal the pitiful star of hope above the heart.
The medal is awarded
when nothing more happens,
Vengeful Heaven, where is your wrath?
now my land is overcome, prostrate,
and in beloved Albania’s infinite skies,
lately the flag of evil flies.
“Within and without my country of grief,
betrayal reigns, is enshrined, esteemed;
degraded everywhere, the heart’s goodness
is consigned to the lowly pauper’s grave.
Who was the villain
When it all began
Some fair-haired stranger
From a faraway land
Or the African brother
Selling his neighbor away
In exchange of whatever
The fair-haired stranger would pay
Into Her Lying Down Head
Into her lying down head
His enemies entered bed,
Under the encumbered eyelid,
Through the rippled drum of the hair-buried ear;
And Noah's rekindled now unkind dove
Flew man-bearing there.
Last night in a raping wave
Whales unreined from the green grave
If you knew who I was now
When I knew who you were then
Would you forgive me before
We ever became them?
If you gathered in the harvest—
Stacked and counted the bales
of our soul-searing pain,
Numbered the bushels
Of our flesh-scalding tears,
Compacted the silos
Eyes Invisible watching,
Spirit Supreme groaning...
Heart Almighty mourning...
While supporters of unborn murder
Give silent or loud shouts
To destroy innocent lives.
No word defends
Unborn murder stands!
Here I'M Alone
I don’t know why I like to talk with you
In your language
Why I can’t withdraw my fingers from the keys
Till I finished the page
Why do I always fall prey to your childlike charm
And believe your words
When I see you staring at me from inside the glass
My thoughts collapse as a tower of cards
Report From The Besieged City
Too old to carry arms and fight like the others -
they graciously gave me the inferior role of chronicler
I record - I don't know for whom - the history of the siege
I am supposed to be exact but I don't know when the invasion began
two hundred years ago in December in September perhaps yesterday at dawn
everyone here suffers from a loss of the sense of time
all we have left is the place the attachment to the place
Manhattan Streets I Saunter'D, Pondering
MANHATTAN'S streets I saunter'd, pondering,
On time, space, reality--on such as these, and abreast with them,
After all, the last explanation remains to be made about prudence;
Little and large alike drop quietly aside from the prudence that