The Brooklyn Chronicles: Ch 2
The DMV,
Atlantic Avenue?
violent upheaval
don’t send me
The Department of Motor Vehicles
a black hole, loud and exploding
absence of life
that place makes me pray
for a quick, quiet death
Short Poems
Philly Story #63
Herbert Holmes is
homeless
he heaves heavy bags of trash for food everyday
hunger scrambling across his tongue
less homes than people
houses hollow of happiness he hollers
he mumbles then
humbled and homely
his Heavenly father is the only one to visit him on the streets
huddled against high-rises,
underneath society’s hazy gaze
Maybe he hates or waits for
a harbinger of humanity
Herbert Holmes is hopeless
but no less than a man
so why do I hesitate,
feeling helpless
The Poet
He sang of life, serenely sweet,
With, now and then, a deeper note.
From some high peak, nigh yet remote,
He voiced the world’s absorbing beat.
He sang of love when earth was young,
And Love, itself, was in his lays.
But ah, the world, it turned to praise
A jingle in a broken tongue.
–Paul Laurence Dunbar
Taste The Rainbow
I’ve always wanted to taste the rainbow
listen to the wind
know what men are thinking
cure my skin problem with those around me
drink a little bit
Learn to jump double dutch
to trust that first leap of a heartbeat when he speaks
hate deeply
truly master an art
to fold towels properly
to listen again
Wax something
Grow something
Write the word write, right, and rite in a sentence
Hold onto secrets and let go of others
Figure out why line breakers and punctuation should be important in poetry
and then blissfullynotcare
Find something I can’t live without
someone I can’t live without
Dance
I haven’t been embarrassed in a while so I’m probably due
In the meantime, that’s just some stuff I wanted to do.
Jerusalem
On a roof in the Old City
Laundry hanging in the late afternoon sunlight:
the white sheet of a woman who is my enemy,
the towel of a man who is my enemy,
to wipe off the sweat of his brow.
In the sky of the Old City
a kite.
At the other end of the string,
a child
I can’t see
because of the wall.
We have put up many flags,
they have put up many flags.
To make us think that they’re happy.
To make them think that we’re happy.
–Yehuda Amichai, translated by Stephen Mitchell
For Maya, Seven Ways To Look At a Black Notebook
1. Scribbled black ink drawings
forced knowledge
thrown to the ground
2. boyish hands
hold a black pen
jots down notes of legend
3. my black seam
never creased, his pages
never filled
4. poems spill from
line to line
juiced
with black sorrow
5. stranger to daylight
i, diary
to blackened deeds
6. white spaces mixed with black lines
unified on
one page
7. home to happy hands
and words
and black pupils
Ever Green
The world tumbles
like leaves falling to the ground
Trees sway
Hold onto me now before winter takes you away
our love, an evergreen
strong and ever lasting
can delay the dead forests of reality
and keep the hurt at bay.
The Tongue
You stick out your tongue
silver harpoon
hunting
between the glittering lips of darkness
— by Pia Tafdrup
If You Didn’t…
…If you didn’t love me
I’d still love you
Still watch you cross the sands of eternal deserts just
to ponder your walk
Still play the sea’s waves so I can better feel the vibrations
in your voice when you talk
I’d pick up a fiddle and teach the devil
how to play the blues
…if you didn’t love me
Even if your salacious kiss lost its solace
I’d reach out for your warm embrace
And love you
…but why wouldn’t you love me?
Philly Story #1
Why would he do that to me
knowing I’m out on parole
Yeah the white boy
Stealing ice cream that I offered to buy
Idiot
I’m going to have to kill him in group tomorrow.
The Poetry Corner 