Slipping
through our toes
The
grit of organic muds
This
evening among strawberries
You
are in your row, alongside
Studying
a berry in your palm
How
the flesh glows red and gives
The
teardrop underside
Will
it fit the open lips
As
you turn it toward sky?
In
your bending, ripe and green
Your
breasts drip to touch
Upon
the tips of grasping leaves
Will
you hold me, dirty
As
the sun dips pink
At
the end of our rows?
Of
the Flesh
|
Of the Flesh
At the end of our
rows
As the sun dips
pink
Will you hold me,
dirty?
Upon the tips of
grasping leaves
Your breasts drip
to touch
In your bending,
ripe and green
As you turn it
toward sky
Will it fit the
open lips
The teardrop
underside?
How the flesh
glows red and gives
Studying a berry
in your palm
You are in your
row, alongside
This evening
among strawberries
The grit of
organic muds
Slipping through
our toes
|
I'm calling this a Mirroratras. Each poem mirrors each other, but backwards. Both become one poem, united yin and yang.
Sugarplums on my second Xmas alone
Sugarplums
on the Second Christmas Alone
My icy hand waves as they go
Back to the mausoleum in the cold
I’ve cleaned the tiles to the
stone
Vacuumed carpets free of dust
Scrubbed slick the perfumed rooms
The dirt that stays is in my
blood
With a leaden echo as it pumps
My family’s gone to celebrate
By way of gifts and scents and food
I am the father who chose to stay
While children and the wife went
on
Ignore accept deny the shame
Songs doped up in me are mute
Not a sadder Christmas in a book
My home is three-times full of
bones
Their whispers rising thin and
cold
A Christmas tree stands stark in
folds
Without a little hand to touch
its limbs
Loneliness is a four bedroom house
With surplus loft like sayings
such as
Happy holidays to me in this
abode
This is my second Holy Night
alone
Once before in dark San Cristobal
A plot with trash and weeds and
moans
Some fireworks and weak array of
sky
But sound asleep until the wisps
of light
Tonight ajar with visions of sugarplums
A star and kings dancing in my headConjured by memories while driving along the Russian River in Sonoma County, or was it near Big Sur? Nevertheless, don't we all engage in such otherization?
Peering
Up and Down
the River
How
strange
The undone dwellings
Along the river
How the wasted
property
Below the highway
Unaesthetic
Along
the river
How
strewn
The stoops, unwound
Along the river
How toys boards
cars litter
Below the highway
Uncouth
Along
the river
How wretched
Lives,
dumb lives
Along the river
How they hide
inside
Below the highway
Unsocial
Along
the river
How our
canons
Tumble and decay
Along the river
How judgment winces, peers
Below the highway
Uncivil
Along
the river
How
I long
To hurry heedless free
Above the river
How low to have to peer up
Above
my dumpy home
Unrestrained
Along
the river
Better, the life of a zebra
The Zebra
With thanks to Robert Sapolsky, Professor of biological and neurological sciences at Stanford, whose research
on zebras, baboons and other species has led to advanced understanding of stress and tranquility.
The zebra, Equus burchellii
Targeted by leopards and croc
The hunter, the lion, the trader
How many walls covered by his
Stripes, the zebra? Hides.
Its ears indicate the brain
Tall above the grasses
When calm--so often calm
Alerted, pushed forward
Angry, back like a dog’s
The silent zebra, a canard
Their whinnies are common
And when they feel afraid
Snorts and barks and brays
Baring teeth. Preparing the kick
But mostly calm, the zebra
So often calm, after fleeing
From hyenas or big cats
Their brains release the fear
When the ears go tall and still
On the far side of savanna
In hut or keep, on cot
Asleep, a human brain
Brays alarmed for hours
Doddling anxious in the rain
Man, baboons, the primates
Sleepless, unsettled, sad
Our brains grown wide
In the vacuum of free time
To worry, wait and war
Better, the days of zebra
Brains serene, masticating
The grasses of free space
Sheltered from torrents of stress
Calm, on the sure plains
With thanks to Robert Sapolsky, Professor of biological and neurological sciences at Stanford, whose research
on zebras, baboons and other species has led to advanced understanding of stress and tranquility.
The zebra, Equus burchellii
Targeted by leopards and croc
The hunter, the lion, the trader
How many walls covered by his
Stripes, the zebra? Hides.
Its ears indicate the brain
Tall above the grasses
When calm--so often calm
Alerted, pushed forward
Angry, back like a dog’s
The silent zebra, a canard
Their whinnies are common
And when they feel afraid
Snorts and barks and brays
Baring teeth. Preparing the kick
But mostly calm, the zebra
So often calm, after fleeing
From hyenas or big cats
Their brains release the fear
When the ears go tall and still
On the far side of savanna
In hut or keep, on cot
Asleep, a human brain
Brays alarmed for hours
Doddling anxious in the rain
Man, baboons, the primates
Sleepless, unsettled, sad
Our brains grown wide
In the vacuum of free time
To worry, wait and war
Better, the days of zebra
Brains serene, masticating
The grasses of free space
Sheltered from torrents of stress
Calm, on the sure plains
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