Sleepless
what to do when the poet cannot sleep…so i take paper to pen and jot down notes of legend, incept a concept so perplex that it alters my perception
Short Poems
Who Is Not A Stranger Still
Who is not a stranger still
even after making love,
or the even the morning after?
The interlude of sleep again divides
it is clear again where one body
ends and the next begins,
Think to think at each encounter,
we will be strangers still
even after making love
and long conversation,
even after meals and showers
together
and years of touching.
(excerpt from Nikki Giovanni)
Dreamed the tho…
Dreamed the thong of my sandal broke.
Nothing to hold it to my foot.
How shall I walk?
Barefoot?
The sharp stones, the dirt. I would
hobble.
And–
Where was I going?
Where was I going I can’t
go to now, unless hurting?
Where am I standing, if I’m
to stand still now?
The Broken Sandal by Denis Levertov
All Day
My job is to smile at people
All day
ALL
DAY.
Then you run across my mind
And smiling is effortless
I can’t stop
And the people think its for them.
Two birds, stone, win
You know the saying.
What more…
I dream a dream
That will never come true
I hope a hope
That is never done
I hear the words of a song
That is never sung
& every day I die a little more
When my victory can’t be won
What more can I do
Italia
The roar of the train as it passes through what can only be classified
as mountains carried by Gods. They are beautiful
like huge bleeding rocks covered with thick layers of everest trees
that suddenly drop into clear sparkling river beds
as water runs over white and gray stones
Lavender
Bend into each other
Trees stretching towards the sun
Wanting. That is always and forever.
To be curled up
Fetal
And endlessly warm. Underneath it all
Lies heat
Strong and sweet
Herbed lavender sweat
Sleep.
from Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends
These books may have been meant for children, but I still love them
The Intro
The Intro
Hi.
Your name is Chocolate
the sweet underside of your Father’s thighs
the resonant color trapped in his eyes
your his laugh
cradled in a blue blanket
his words etched on the finest parts of your DNA
Lullabies sung from ancient Sanskrit he sang to you
while you were in the womb
but more importantly
you are everything he’s not
I apologize for the worry lines
that will plague your eyes
From the cries he will not hear
The hugs he’ll miss
Your name is Strong, spirit
that will not be broken
like the canvas on your Father’s stomach
or the pride across his wide back.
Vampires
That smile dreams brightly of the future
You have the audacity to say
we
To boast carelessly of what we’ll have
When you’d give me spit to taste
before your heart’s embrace
There he goes
flying high off himself one minute
Then rips my throat out the next
I want a vampire
at least they don’t hide behind the guise of love
when they decide to bite you
The Poetry Corner 