TO
SEE HER AGAIN* [February 2014]
And
never, never more to see her form,
Not
even a glimpse of her,
Not
in the nights filled with trembling stars,
Or
at noon when the bright light
Feeds
and graces every living thing,
How
do I believe that I may never see her again?
Never,
never, again, to witness her walking,
Her
walking with me on the hard, fast dirt of the bridle path,
Along
the river, underneath the shadow of trees,
Her
leaping up over the embankment
Then
hastening away upon
The
white-washed stones of the causeway,
How
now might I accept that I may never see her again?
I
wonder if she remembers the bridge, the one
Topping
the low-rise concrete dam there at New Hope?
I
told her as we looked to the river below
That
nothing had sufficient strength,
That
no material exists to control the overflow,
Is
there nothing to contain my flood of feelings for her?
How
else might I relate my mood?
Ask
the pertinent question?
Never,
never, again, to eye her fleshly presence,
Entangled,
standing in the tresses of the forest,
Or
stooped, gathering strawberries, picking them
One
by one from the plants, her, the image of her,
Her
out between the raised earth rows
And
the troughs in the field of the farm garden,
That
now and forever such visions are no more,
How
am I ever to conclude so terrible a destiny?
And
here at home I walk the big-city sidewalks,
Remain
alone while the night, the late hours envelop me.
My
cries echo, repeat my anguish.
Through
the empty parking lots and off the brick walls,
Against
building after building,
My
voice carries, yet seemingly I am not heard,
Though
occasionally some one person may look,
Shake
a head from side to side at my sorry spectacle,
Most
people hurry past, eyes down, as if I do not exist,
But
what about the reality of my situation?
Over
and over, I hear myself implore her to return to me.
Should
I not, and is it not better to forget her?
Oh,
no! To see her again,
It
does not matter when
Not
important, makes no difference, where,
If
today should I glimpse her in the heavens,
Were
I to tilt my head upwards and behold
Her
smile, her eyes upon me, watch again her wonderful walk,
Up
there before me configured within a magic wisp of cloud,
Moving,
wheeling along against a deep, blue patch of sky,
Mercy
grant my wish!
Or
perhaps tomorrow I chance a vision.
Imagine
a ship going down, and all its glory sinks,
Down,
down into the Sailors’ Locker,
Would
it be possible that she still surfaces,
That
I have sight of her, no matter what all else disappears,
She
rises above a whirlpool force,
I
see her again over a watery vortex, yes,
She
above a swirling ocean power, unsinkable,
Albeit
sun has set,
And
moon's light is the scene's sole illuminate?
Oh,
no! To see her again, and to view her in the moment
When
the volcano opens
And
I am on the edge before the lurid, red hell-mouth,
And
witness its demons’ roaring spew of steam and ash,
Yet
even though such terror-instant befalls me,
I
do not flinch. I am steadfast.
I
have no fear of misadventure.
I
look into the conflagration.
I
do not plug my ears, I listen,
And
from within earth’s deep, far-away core,
Amidst
the Hurley burly of all the explosions,
Within
the lightning claps and clamor,
The
mad noise of boulders being thrown,
I
hear it! I hear her name, Etta, Etta!
I
see her face and lovely shape,
She,
she dances above the fires!
Yes,
I admit her deviltry besets me.
And
to be with her in all the spring times,
And
in all the winters,
Entwined
in paroxysm of mighty-muscle clench,
While
I suck up the blood from her neck,
And
spot her flesh all over,
Make
it black and blue with the power of my caresses,
Should
I ever hold her in my arms,
Might
Hope let me see her again.
*After
Gabriela Mistral's Love Poem -- The Chilean and Noble Prize for
Literature, poet, Gabriela Mistral had entitled her poem, "Volverlo a
Ver," or, "To See Him Again." I do not hope to translate her great verse.
Rather its spirit was the inspiration for my own.
Showing posts with label prophecy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prophecy. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Friday, August 22, 2014
KISS ME ONCE, KISS ME TWICE...
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KISS ME ONCE,
Kiss Me Twice…
I sing tonight. It's the ol' Babalu.
Though tired and drawn, I am called.
I hear the knock at the door.
The prophecy takes hold.
The school lessons progress.
The command of language strengthens.
The student seems eager.
Dimension gains hold.
Dreams of tomorrow grow.
Wishes come true.
New life looms on the horizon.
Fantasy becomes reality.
The promises burgeon.
There is pregnancy of parts;
Ocean of delight lies before us!
Hello! Darling, hello!
“Kiss me once, kiss me twice.
Then kiss me once again.”
I want your lips on mine.
“It's been a long, long time.”
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KISS ME ONCE,
Kiss Me Twice…
I sing tonight. It's the ol' Babalu.
Though tired and drawn, I am called.
I hear the knock at the door.
The prophecy takes hold.
The school lessons progress.
The command of language strengthens.
The student seems eager.
Dimension gains hold.
Dreams of tomorrow grow.
Wishes come true.
New life looms on the horizon.
Fantasy becomes reality.
The promises burgeon.
There is pregnancy of parts;
Ocean of delight lies before us!
Hello! Darling, hello!
“Kiss me once, kiss me twice.
Then kiss me once again.”
I want your lips on mine.
“It's been a long, long time.”
Friday, July 18, 2014
A DREAM OF YOU, Desert Vision, Parts 3, 4 & 5
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A DREAM OF YOU, Desert Vision,
Parts 3, 4 & 5
3.
I remember Central Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona,
Danny’s store packed with Native American silver,
All properly displayed: bracelets, necklaces and rings,
On racks, in trays, locked within showcases,
And on clear glass shelves, velvet pads, and boxed trays,
Hosting jewelry of turquoise, coral, and black onyx
Along with mother of pearl, abalone,
Plus agates mined and cut to display their fire,
And Alexander, my son, maybe eight, no more than ten,
His years of age at the time, playing behind the counters,
Next to the shotguns, diagonally propped,
On the floor twelve-gauge shells in open boxes,
Ready, should there be an extended engagement.
I share with you the times when, flying in
From Dallas, the grand noise, engines’ reversal
To land at Sky Harbor, the ground crew,
How they scrambled, and then,
Wheeled up the staircase,
The platform for debarkation, and me, I would descend
The steps full-tilt straight onto the tarmac,
Fahrenheit, ninety-five degrees in early morning,
A rental car awaited me, and I was off over to Dog Track,
To the swap meet that was unfolding and I sought
The cowboy named, Roadrunner, who always had
Tons of loot, the goods, every Sunday he brought a haul.
Though at his point, it, more dream than reality,
I recall the very special meeting, when traders
Lined up, raised hands, and one after the other,
Volunteered to say that jewelry great here and
Declared that whosoever is welcomed into
The lounge camper, who greets the Navajo,
Both the man and wife and acts with propriety,
Slights his eyes and keeps in camera in the holster,
And the traders at the meeting continued their delaration
Saying that the person who watches the children playing,
Their running across the white gravel parking lot,
Left and right, up and down, then unto the asphalt sidewalk,
Who enjoys those moments
When the young ones stop
And form a line to refresh themselves from
The water-cooled, stainless steel, floor-pedal fountain,
(It stood next to the right side of the pari-mutuel windows)
Who knows that the bright-sparkling, that eye of the desert,
Quenches every human thirst and brings joy to the moment,
Upon that person, who has witnessed design,
Who has abstracted anagram from within
All the children’s scurry, who traces,
Out upon the open parking space, meaning,
Who divines new vision,
Who is able to see within the minds’ eye, the dance,
The dance the holy ones once danced in godly regalia,
That person, who hears within the youngsters' feet
The drums, the rhythms which ancestors had orchestrated,
So to let go, leave this material world,
And find entrance to separate reality,
The traders at the meeting, in-order, one-by-one,
Both arms raised up on high, heads flung back,
Palms stretched and fingers spread wide apart,
As though they reached and pressed upon the sky,
Called upon Great Talking God to sanctify their wish.
It was at that moment, the glory of it all,
They stopped and asked if one such person was present,
There at assembly of Sunday traders at the swap meet
The question became would there be any one to step forward,
Would anyone acknowledge the gift?
And when I answered, yeah
They bestowed their most precious title upon me,
And between the ghosts and the human beings
The word rang and cemented the union, ‘Friend’.
4.
Later that Sunday morning, I felt good magic
When a child ran up behind me,
He quickly, then, touched the back of my hand,
and laughing aloud he scurried away.
At noon, I met a Mexican friend up on South Mountain.
His house was painted a bright, distinctive blue.
I bought more jewelry and got into my car,
I took the Express Way North, exited at Bell Road,
And headed to way out west of the city.
At one point, I passed the shopping mall,
I thought about Monday’s appointments,
How a salesman's lot means he sits,
Marks time to wait his turn with buyers.
Late that afternoon on the concrete patio,
The one surrounding
The big swimming pool at the Community Center,
I buck-danced to the beat, which played
On the rock an’ roll, radio station.
Although it was already that Sunday’s dusk,
And the day’s high temperature had receded,
It still was ninety, over ninety degrees,
When I pulled up a lounge chair, sat back
And watched Alexander practice dives off the high board.
5.
Even then, it was long ago, and in Phoenix,
It was you! Darling, I had been waiting for you;
The desert air brought me a waking vision,
The shimmering, the uplifts, the vertical lines,
Up, upward, shafts of heat rising
Out across the desert vista,
Now I recognize it was a dream of you,
And this, my verse was racing,
I flashed on a fast and mighty steed;
I road atop a beast, it galloped through my mind,
Yet I had command --
I managed to pull in the reins,
Halted its furious run, tied the horse up to the rail at the tip,
I hitched the reins to the post at the tip of my tongue.
While I watched the colors of the sunset, as I heard
The splash of the practiced head-first dives,
I was reciting poetry, not out loud, but to myself,
Though I knew not its power, no idea of the prophecy,
I knew not the meaning of that woman,
Who I glimpsed,
Whose image I caught from from the corner of my eye,
Who walked out among the columns of earth fever,
And stood next to the Saguaros in the twilight,
Who appeared in an instant out on the horizon,
Seemingly, her feet upon the hard scrub of the desert,
Yet before she disappeared, she nodded,
It was as if she had sanctioned the voice,
The true heart of these lines,
The cadences and syntax I repeat from once upon a time
And now so long ago, she blessed me
And today at the keyboard, she grants me
These words, this lyric I use to describe a dream of you.
Long before I had ever made your actual acquaintance,
A figure in the landscape,
I saw you, your form, at a time prior to when you were born.
At the airport, upon my once-again departure
From the Valley of the Sun to my New-York-City market,
Security stopped me, I stood
In a booth whose sliding curtains dropped to the floor,
The jewelry I carried in my on-board luggage,
X ray showed a concentrated jumble of metal,
And as I awaited the woos and ahs of personnel,
When they inspected my bags before I boarded the aircraft,
It was then that I began to wonder, and it remains
Fresh today, as clear in my mind as events
Which might have happened only yesterday.
It was then I began to wonder, when you,
When your love might saunter in, and make life complete.
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A DREAM OF YOU, Desert Vision,
Parts 3, 4 & 5
3.
I remember Central Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona,
Danny’s store packed with Native American silver,
All properly displayed: bracelets, necklaces and rings,
On racks, in trays, locked within showcases,
And on clear glass shelves, velvet pads, and boxed trays,
Hosting jewelry of turquoise, coral, and black onyx
Along with mother of pearl, abalone,
Plus agates mined and cut to display their fire,
And Alexander, my son, maybe eight, no more than ten,
His years of age at the time, playing behind the counters,
Next to the shotguns, diagonally propped,
On the floor twelve-gauge shells in open boxes,
Ready, should there be an extended engagement.
I share with you the times when, flying in
From Dallas, the grand noise, engines’ reversal
To land at Sky Harbor, the ground crew,
How they scrambled, and then,
Wheeled up the staircase,
The platform for debarkation, and me, I would descend
The steps full-tilt straight onto the tarmac,
Fahrenheit, ninety-five degrees in early morning,
A rental car awaited me, and I was off over to Dog Track,
To the swap meet that was unfolding and I sought
The cowboy named, Roadrunner, who always had
Tons of loot, the goods, every Sunday he brought a haul.
Though at his point, it, more dream than reality,
I recall the very special meeting, when traders
Lined up, raised hands, and one after the other,
Volunteered to say that jewelry great here and
Declared that whosoever is welcomed into
The lounge camper, who greets the Navajo,
Both the man and wife and acts with propriety,
Slights his eyes and keeps in camera in the holster,
And the traders at the meeting continued their delaration
Saying that the person who watches the children playing,
Their running across the white gravel parking lot,
Left and right, up and down, then unto the asphalt sidewalk,
Who enjoys those moments
When the young ones stop
And form a line to refresh themselves from
The water-cooled, stainless steel, floor-pedal fountain,
(It stood next to the right side of the pari-mutuel windows)
Who knows that the bright-sparkling, that eye of the desert,
Quenches every human thirst and brings joy to the moment,
Upon that person, who has witnessed design,
Who has abstracted anagram from within
All the children’s scurry, who traces,
Out upon the open parking space, meaning,
Who divines new vision,
Who is able to see within the minds’ eye, the dance,
The dance the holy ones once danced in godly regalia,
That person, who hears within the youngsters' feet
The drums, the rhythms which ancestors had orchestrated,
So to let go, leave this material world,
And find entrance to separate reality,
The traders at the meeting, in-order, one-by-one,
Both arms raised up on high, heads flung back,
Palms stretched and fingers spread wide apart,
As though they reached and pressed upon the sky,
Called upon Great Talking God to sanctify their wish.
It was at that moment, the glory of it all,
They stopped and asked if one such person was present,
There at assembly of Sunday traders at the swap meet
The question became would there be any one to step forward,
Would anyone acknowledge the gift?
And when I answered, yeah
They bestowed their most precious title upon me,
And between the ghosts and the human beings
The word rang and cemented the union, ‘Friend’.
4.
Later that Sunday morning, I felt good magic
When a child ran up behind me,
He quickly, then, touched the back of my hand,
and laughing aloud he scurried away.
At noon, I met a Mexican friend up on South Mountain.
His house was painted a bright, distinctive blue.
I bought more jewelry and got into my car,
I took the Express Way North, exited at Bell Road,
And headed to way out west of the city.
At one point, I passed the shopping mall,
I thought about Monday’s appointments,
How a salesman's lot means he sits,
Marks time to wait his turn with buyers.
Late that afternoon on the concrete patio,
The one surrounding
The big swimming pool at the Community Center,
I buck-danced to the beat, which played
On the rock an’ roll, radio station.
Although it was already that Sunday’s dusk,
And the day’s high temperature had receded,
It still was ninety, over ninety degrees,
When I pulled up a lounge chair, sat back
And watched Alexander practice dives off the high board.
5.
Even then, it was long ago, and in Phoenix,
It was you! Darling, I had been waiting for you;
The desert air brought me a waking vision,
The shimmering, the uplifts, the vertical lines,
Up, upward, shafts of heat rising
Out across the desert vista,
Now I recognize it was a dream of you,
And this, my verse was racing,
I flashed on a fast and mighty steed;
I road atop a beast, it galloped through my mind,
Yet I had command --
I managed to pull in the reins,
Halted its furious run, tied the horse up to the rail at the tip,
I hitched the reins to the post at the tip of my tongue.
While I watched the colors of the sunset, as I heard
The splash of the practiced head-first dives,
I was reciting poetry, not out loud, but to myself,
Though I knew not its power, no idea of the prophecy,
I knew not the meaning of that woman,
Who I glimpsed,
Whose image I caught from from the corner of my eye,
Who walked out among the columns of earth fever,
And stood next to the Saguaros in the twilight,
Who appeared in an instant out on the horizon,
Seemingly, her feet upon the hard scrub of the desert,
Yet before she disappeared, she nodded,
It was as if she had sanctioned the voice,
The true heart of these lines,
The cadences and syntax I repeat from once upon a time
And now so long ago, she blessed me
And today at the keyboard, she grants me
These words, this lyric I use to describe a dream of you.
Long before I had ever made your actual acquaintance,
A figure in the landscape,
I saw you, your form, at a time prior to when you were born.
At the airport, upon my once-again departure
From the Valley of the Sun to my New-York-City market,
Security stopped me, I stood
In a booth whose sliding curtains dropped to the floor,
The jewelry I carried in my on-board luggage,
X ray showed a concentrated jumble of metal,
And as I awaited the woos and ahs of personnel,
When they inspected my bags before I boarded the aircraft,
It was then that I began to wonder, and it remains
Fresh today, as clear in my mind as events
Which might have happened only yesterday.
It was then I began to wonder, when you,
When your love might saunter in, and make life complete.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
THANK YOU, BACCHUS
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THANK YOU, BACCHUS
Thank you, Bacchus. You let me go,
Freed me from your treacherous hold.
The enemy's army caught our ranks unaware;
Our generals had failed to figure on all-out assault.
An awful panic ensued.
I had not the time to grab my boots.
I ran across the Sinai.
I hoped to survive and make it home.
Though still early morning, yet the sand was hot.
Before too long my feet were sorely burned.
Snipers hid among the rocks and hills;
They shot and killed us, almost everyone.
Thank you Bacchus. You let me go,
Freed me from your treacherous hold.
I crossed the Nile and my injuries healed,
From death in the desert, abandoned and alone,
Your grace had saved me.
Now I share this marvelous tale;
The troops in rout and I had prevailed.
*Bacchus is the Roman god of wine; he has a number of darker associations, one of them is the disorder apparent when an army suffers a calamitous defeat.
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THANK YOU, BACCHUS
Thank you, Bacchus. You let me go,
Freed me from your treacherous hold.
The enemy's army caught our ranks unaware;
Our generals had failed to figure on all-out assault.
An awful panic ensued.
I had not the time to grab my boots.
I ran across the Sinai.
I hoped to survive and make it home.
Though still early morning, yet the sand was hot.
Before too long my feet were sorely burned.
Snipers hid among the rocks and hills;
They shot and killed us, almost everyone.
Thank you Bacchus. You let me go,
Freed me from your treacherous hold.
I crossed the Nile and my injuries healed,
From death in the desert, abandoned and alone,
Your grace had saved me.
Now I share this marvelous tale;
The troops in rout and I had prevailed.
*Bacchus is the Roman god of wine; he has a number of darker associations, one of them is the disorder apparent when an army suffers a calamitous defeat.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
SWEDISH INTERMENT, Illnois Enchantment, edited version
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SWEDISH INTERMENT,
Illinois Enchantment, edited version
You know it's all a whole lot of hokum, honey,
This talk of visionary moment and prophetic feat,
No more than ploy,
A guise I use to hide the real intent of my too-hot ferver,
Oh let’s just say I want to eat alive.
Yet loving you no quick turn of verse,
I consider it a serious task, and put forth a dedicated effort.
At prognostication I am gifted.
I have always been able to see around corners.
On our first night, the first night we had slept together,
You may recall, I told you that I saw our future,
I knew what was going to happen.
Allow me this declaration.
Once you actually experience,
Live an event which I prefigure,
You recognize about it uncanny familiarity,
Déjà vu, you feel the situation,
As if it were previously known,
Or may have been already played.
The notion strikes you
That you have been here once before,
That current moment eerily reflects prior encounter.
Once you sense this power, it causes tremble,
And it bestows pleasant excitement;
It makes life expectant.
With me you will learn to swoon and shudder.
You will know warm and be hot all over,
Yet others freeze in midwinter.
Oh baby I am in love with you.
I told you that your grandfather has spoken to me.
His voice emerged from a dream,
Though the setting was familiar, my own bedroom,
The light came from afar,
Suffusing the space and me within it,
I dwelled in delicious, excellent hues of yellow and blue.
He announced, said that I am the man of the house,
And he then assured me,
(He spoke with unmistakable clarity)
That happiness the product of our life together.
I have another secret; I want to share it with you.
I envision major experience,
Not unlike Leda's when she learned;
It was a god who had entered her.
You should know that from you will issue --
Yes, marvelous to relate! --
Being supreme, a mortal whose
Life and renown, belongs to that golden,
Regal realm, where Homer rules king.
I slip, revealing more than I intend.
I knew it. I knew it early on in life,
Years before your birth,
As I walked the truck farm fields,
Along the rows of cabbage and corn,
My love for you was growing strong,
I had sight then, ears to catch the sounds,
And nose to whiff out the dreams,
Conferred on me, oracular, from on high.
I stepped out from the Hitching Post Diner.
I saw you! It was you.
On the packed-mud, bridal path, just ahead,
By a yard or two, you were down the trail,
Your form preceded me, walking apace.
This last August, eleventh,
Before we had begun to date,
Between bed sheets wet from too much sweat,
Your heat wakened me.
I knew the smell of you!
Up from the threads of woven cotton --
They were your odors bursting up my nostrils,
While I in my bed that summer's night alone.
I had instantly recognized your fragrance,
Once I slept with you.
Your presence already there,
Beneath my skin years before I had known you.
And now, again, the moment commands,
It plays out now from the keyboard to the screen.
I realize that before I had met you,
I recognize that I had heard it, your name!
I heard your name,
It came to me from earlier time, at a time, prior,
Yes, actually previous to your birth!
I assure you, although I was not yet an adolescent,
As a child, no more than ten or eleven years old,
I had witnessed destiny from landscape in Illinois.
From the backyard lawn of my childhood home,
I looked up into the evening sky and saw
The refocusing veils of shimmer of light, the aurora borealis,
The phantasmagoric curtains of shifting color,
Which all at once so utterly present, then, in a feint,
As if by trick of hand, gone,
Held me captive; I had fallen to trance, bewitched,
And in the midst of this awesome, display,
From the far North, your name, I heard it.
I heard! I heard your name; it was pronounced,
While the green and red flames of light crackled
Along the vault of the universe. I possessed it.
I learned your name from a storm in the heavens.
And that very self-same night,
I was no more than ten or eleven years old,
Out upon the backyard lawn of my childhood home,
With my Face toward the north and up into nighttime colors,
I looked, and I now know that,
I had glimpse into the future.
I had witnessed destiny from landscape in Illinois.
I pictured oak trees growing outside an iron fence,
And there, above a low earthen mound, a cemetery marker,
My name, it was struck upon a gravestone.
I knew it. I knew the certainty;
The scene, the ground I saw was in Sweden.
The green and red flames crackled your name.
I learned your name from a storm in the heavens.
I was a child, no more than ten or eleven years old,
I stood upon the lawn at home, entranced, captive,
Gazing up into the aurora borealis, bewitched,
I saw a Swedish interment.
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SWEDISH INTERMENT,
Illinois Enchantment, edited version
You know it's all a whole lot of hokum, honey,
This talk of visionary moment and prophetic feat,
No more than ploy,
A guise I use to hide the real intent of my too-hot ferver,
Oh let’s just say I want to eat alive.
Yet loving you no quick turn of verse,
I consider it a serious task, and put forth a dedicated effort.
At prognostication I am gifted.
I have always been able to see around corners.
On our first night, the first night we had slept together,
You may recall, I told you that I saw our future,
I knew what was going to happen.
Allow me this declaration.
Once you actually experience,
Live an event which I prefigure,
You recognize about it uncanny familiarity,
Déjà vu, you feel the situation,
As if it were previously known,
Or may have been already played.
The notion strikes you
That you have been here once before,
That current moment eerily reflects prior encounter.
Once you sense this power, it causes tremble,
And it bestows pleasant excitement;
It makes life expectant.
With me you will learn to swoon and shudder.
You will know warm and be hot all over,
Yet others freeze in midwinter.
Oh baby I am in love with you.
I told you that your grandfather has spoken to me.
His voice emerged from a dream,
Though the setting was familiar, my own bedroom,
The light came from afar,
Suffusing the space and me within it,
I dwelled in delicious, excellent hues of yellow and blue.
He announced, said that I am the man of the house,
And he then assured me,
(He spoke with unmistakable clarity)
That happiness the product of our life together.
I have another secret; I want to share it with you.
I envision major experience,
Not unlike Leda's when she learned;
It was a god who had entered her.
You should know that from you will issue --
Yes, marvelous to relate! --
Being supreme, a mortal whose
Life and renown, belongs to that golden,
Regal realm, where Homer rules king.
I slip, revealing more than I intend.
I knew it. I knew it early on in life,
Years before your birth,
As I walked the truck farm fields,
Along the rows of cabbage and corn,
My love for you was growing strong,
I had sight then, ears to catch the sounds,
And nose to whiff out the dreams,
Conferred on me, oracular, from on high.
I stepped out from the Hitching Post Diner.
I saw you! It was you.
On the packed-mud, bridal path, just ahead,
By a yard or two, you were down the trail,
Your form preceded me, walking apace.
This last August, eleventh,
Before we had begun to date,
Between bed sheets wet from too much sweat,
Your heat wakened me.
I knew the smell of you!
Up from the threads of woven cotton --
They were your odors bursting up my nostrils,
While I in my bed that summer's night alone.
I had instantly recognized your fragrance,
Once I slept with you.
Your presence already there,
Beneath my skin years before I had known you.
And now, again, the moment commands,
It plays out now from the keyboard to the screen.
I realize that before I had met you,
I recognize that I had heard it, your name!
I heard your name,
It came to me from earlier time, at a time, prior,
Yes, actually previous to your birth!
I assure you, although I was not yet an adolescent,
As a child, no more than ten or eleven years old,
I had witnessed destiny from landscape in Illinois.
From the backyard lawn of my childhood home,
I looked up into the evening sky and saw
The refocusing veils of shimmer of light, the aurora borealis,
The phantasmagoric curtains of shifting color,
Which all at once so utterly present, then, in a feint,
As if by trick of hand, gone,
Held me captive; I had fallen to trance, bewitched,
And in the midst of this awesome, display,
From the far North, your name, I heard it.
I heard! I heard your name; it was pronounced,
While the green and red flames of light crackled
Along the vault of the universe. I possessed it.
I learned your name from a storm in the heavens.
And that very self-same night,
I was no more than ten or eleven years old,
Out upon the backyard lawn of my childhood home,
With my Face toward the north and up into nighttime colors,
I looked, and I now know that,
I had glimpse into the future.
I had witnessed destiny from landscape in Illinois.
I pictured oak trees growing outside an iron fence,
And there, above a low earthen mound, a cemetery marker,
My name, it was struck upon a gravestone.
I knew it. I knew the certainty;
The scene, the ground I saw was in Sweden.
The green and red flames crackled your name.
I learned your name from a storm in the heavens.
I was a child, no more than ten or eleven years old,
I stood upon the lawn at home, entranced, captive,
Gazing up into the aurora borealis, bewitched,
I saw a Swedish interment.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
PROCLAMATION
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PROCLAMATION
I read here and inform the world,
I am one who had been granted choice
To have life of joy and great party, instead
I embraced age and woe, and prophecy to bear.
I am reminded of King David.
My verse belongs to heart,
I sing of love, and the bedroom,
The nights when limbs fall askew,
And lips of wide-open mouths lock.
I write of events, whose chief renown,
Rest upon time loosening its awful grasp.
My arm is mighty.
I am keenly skilled at weaponry.
Because my heart is pure,
My strength has the strength of ten.
A new kingdom animates my ambition,
I plan to establish Zion.
On mountain top,
Now sitting barren in the wilderness,
The light of the ages shall flourish,
The son of man, He will visit.
The Lord commands I marshal my forces.
My lyre sits on campaign table,
My sling readies to outrage Philistines.
Warriors reel, they roll in clanging lists
Trumpets shrill up high, shattering the sky,
I walk to the fore, my bearing right,
Munificence blesses me, my enemy,
All his might now lay upon the ground,
Surely goodness and mercy follow me.
And in the heat and noise of battle,
Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
Angels sing, and I fear no evil,
I dwell in the house of the Lord, forever.
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PROCLAMATION
I read here and inform the world,
I am one who had been granted choice
To have life of joy and great party, instead
I embraced age and woe, and prophecy to bear.
I am reminded of King David.
My verse belongs to heart,
I sing of love, and the bedroom,
The nights when limbs fall askew,
And lips of wide-open mouths lock.
I write of events, whose chief renown,
Rest upon time loosening its awful grasp.
My arm is mighty.
I am keenly skilled at weaponry.
Because my heart is pure,
My strength has the strength of ten.
A new kingdom animates my ambition,
I plan to establish Zion.
On mountain top,
Now sitting barren in the wilderness,
The light of the ages shall flourish,
The son of man, He will visit.
The Lord commands I marshal my forces.
My lyre sits on campaign table,
My sling readies to outrage Philistines.
Warriors reel, they roll in clanging lists
Trumpets shrill up high, shattering the sky,
I walk to the fore, my bearing right,
Munificence blesses me, my enemy,
All his might now lay upon the ground,
Surely goodness and mercy follow me.
And in the heat and noise of battle,
Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
Angels sing, and I fear no evil,
I dwell in the house of the Lord, forever.
Monday, July 23, 2012
KIDNAPPED
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KIDNAPPED,
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KIDNAPPED,
Wedding Night Abduction
A nightmare pulled you
From the bridal bed and out from the
house;
You were screaming.
It carried you off through the wild
desert.
Night had little moon;
Darkness hid the cacti,
Making them all the more dangerous to
life and limb.
The temperature had dropped to freezing
in the Sonora.
I could hear you cry my name.
I had been cheated at the moment when
life’s promise
Happiest, I felt the fulfillment of
holy, holy prophecy.
Remember, please! I had been assured
children;
One was to be monarch of new Golden
Age,
A child to whom future ages might do
homage.
I did not hesitate, but marshaled my
forces
I frantically shouted with all my
might, 'Help!'
I hoped to rescue you,
My beautiful wife, the love, the love
of my life.
Still perfumed and boutonnière,
Heady with the day's excitement,
Like some native sorcerer, a shaman
Whose vision had been magically
enhanced
Through ritual drink, I could see in
the dark.
I ran headlong, inner light to guide
me.
I chased the phantom that possessed
you.
Your beauty, the allure of your
physical self,
Your large brown eyes and olive
complexion,
Your brunet tresses running down to
your shoulders,
-- drapery of oh-so-special, awesome
pulchritude –
The thought of your high intelligence,
Its value to material success in my
life,
Your undeniable charm, your grace,
The mercy, at core, inspiration of my
poetic ambitions,
Propelled me, you, the dream of you,
It animated my heart and lungs with
incredible vigor.
I and my comrades launched search after
search,
Soon the whole community joined to
assist,
For eight days we scoured landscape,
Reaching down into the most perilous
ravines,
We walked the vast expanse for miles
around.
In the heat people fell to the ground
exhausted.
Old timers said that they had not
witnessed such uproar,
Since the days when war Yaqui stole
settler women,
Who never returned, rumor reported,
because
Squaws knew better treatment among the
lodges and
Tepees than in their own homes from
first husbands.
We never found you.
I went to the priests and sought
advice;
I prayed to the Savior, but it was no
avail.
You were gone; we felt you were no
longer with us.
I knew it, yet could not let you go. I
pined.
I learned that time had never been a
friend.
Because these, because all my efforts
proved futile,
I am now a broken man, dead unto
myself,
Unfit, and utterly homeless, my
existence over,
Devastated, no other woman may ever
have me.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
A DREAM OF YOU, Desert Vision
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A DREAM OF YOU,
Desert Vision, A Poem in Five Parts
Sweetheart, I know you love me.
I know you appreciate the poetry.
For three years now I have struggled,
I have wanted to write an epic,
A great, big, love poem about us,
I sought to post the way this thing of ours went,
How it went right from the start,
All banners unfurled,
How time marshals forces
Though we go about our daily business,
And children are born, and, as they grow up, think,
Believe fervently that they are meant for one thing
Later to discover, underneath it all,
A new world order sweeps away the old.
I want to announce that I have learned
That the verity of prophecy remains unknown,
Until the actual event transpires.
The Word takes on meaning after the fact.
Headlines acclaim events;
Yet history proves otherwise,
Often something other than bold type might suggest.
Although the finite first meet the eye,
Spirit alights, it writes the script,
The real storyline often lies well beyond
First-glance tales of human endeavor …
We intend to do one thing, but, many times, later,
Discover, unwittingly we do another.
2.
Today I write, declare the moment
Yes, I say that is the way,
The way, it had actually had happened.
Now consider! I dedicate this verse to you;
Yet allow, if you please, that it records events,
Prior to our acquaintance,
Circumstance which had occurred years before we met,
Years before either of us heard each others' name.
Where do I get the nerve?
-- The actual gall of me, hey! --
I affirm that this poem tells a part of our story,
Which antecedes your birth.
The folly of it! I include you in a physical geography,
In a place on this planet you had not experienced,
An earth, whereupon your feet had never trod.
Yet, darling, I have seen you before, yes,
Once upon a time and so long ago.
This narrative propels me, no choice,
I do what destiny would have me do.
I found these words;
I had inked them once,
On lined, yellow, perforated sheet,
‘I sit at the desk, night after night,
And sometimes, it's even day and night,
Often I write on topics, quotidian and small,
On matters of no special interest,
Issues, which critics in essays declare,
Lack propriety and moment,
And do not belong to sphere of poetic ambition.
'Now years have passed,
And choice less still, I write.’
Earlier today, I had packed up your mail,
Readied the address to Coral Gables,
And when you later called and asked
How I was doing, me, under compulsion’s demand,
Lonely, slave to love and ardent desire,
I answered 'pathetic.'
No one else will have me.
It as though I have some terrible pox;
Other women see it and shun me.
My mirror image, however, it reminds me of you,
I cram my schedule, always insufficient time,
The day wants the hours,
I have endless lists ‘To Do’.
I isolate terribly, talk to no one for the week,
When friends reach out and telephone, I rush them off!
Honest! No time for idle talk, or chat.
.
No choice! I return to my desk.
I dread any date for lunch.
I pass on evening engagements.
Sorry! I want only you.
I just want to be with you.
Yet I have that other side,
More than everyday necessity and much more
Than simple expression of my love for you.
It is a confidence I wish to share with you and world,
About how I always knew that you were the girl for me,
Though I came to comprehend it, my great love,
This startling fact, only after the event;
You, only you, once you had entered my life.
I believe I might say it right,
Watch me now, and let’s see if I say it right!
3.
I remember Central Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona,
Danny’s store packed with Native American silver,
Bracelets, necklaces and rings, properly displayed
On racks, in trays, locked within showcases,
And on clear shelves, velvet pads, the array of colors,
Turquoise, coral, black onyx and mother of pearl,
Abalone, agates mined and cut to display their fire,
And Alexander, my son, maybe eight, no more than ten,
His years of age, playing behind the counters,
Next to the shotguns, diagonally propped,
On the floor twelve-gauge shells in open boxes,
Ready, should there be an extended engagement.
I share with you the times when, flying in
From Dallas, the grand noise, engines’ reversal
To land at Sky Harbor, the ground crew,
How they scrambled, and then,
Wheeled up the staircase,
The platform for debarkation, and me, I would descend
The steps full-tilt straight onto the tarmac,
Fahrenheit, ninety-five degrees in early morning,
A rental car awaited me, and I was off over to Dog Track,
To the swap meet that was unfolding and I sought
The cowboy named, Roadrunner, who always had
Tons of loot, the goods, every Sunday he brought a haul.
Though at his point, it, more dream than reality,
I recall the very special meeting, when traders
Lined up, raised hands, and one after the other,
Volunteered to say that jewelry great here and
Proclaimed that whosoever is welcomed into
The lounge camper, who greets the Navajo,
Both the man and wife and acts with propriety,
Slights his eyes and diverts his gaze,
And the traders at the meeting said that
The person who watches the children playing,
Their running across the white gravel parking lot,
Left and right, up and down, then unto the asphalt sidewalk,
Who enjoys those moments
When the children stop
And form a line to refresh themselves from
The water-cooled, stainless steel, floor-pedal fountain,
(It stood next to the right side of the pari-mutuel windows)
Who knows that the bright sparkling, that eye of the desert,
Quenches every human thirst and brings joy to the moment,
Upon that person, who has witnessed design,
Who has abstracted anagram from within
All the children’s scurry, who traces,
Out upon the open parking space, meaning,
Who divines new vision,
Who is able to see within the minds’ eye, the dance,
The dance holy ones once danced in godly regalia,
That person, who hears within the youngsters' feet
The drums, the rhythms ancestors had orchestrated,
So to let go, leave this material world,
And find entrance to separate reality,
The traders at the meeting, in-order, one-by-one,
Both arms raised up on high, heads flung back,
Palms stretched and fingers spread wide apart,
As if they reached and pressed upon the sky,
Called upon Great Talking God to sanctify their wish.
It was at that moment, the glory of it all,
They stopped and asked if one such person was present,
There at assembly of Sunday traders at the swap meet
The question became would there be any one to step forward,
Would anyone acknowledge the gift?
And when I answered, yeah
They bestowed their most precious title upon me,
And between the ghosts and the human beings
The word rang and cemented the union, ‘Friend’.
4.
Later that Sunday morning, I felt good magic
When a child ran up behind me,
He quickly, then, touched the back of my hand.
At noon, I met a Mexican friend up on South Mountain.
His house was painted a bright, distinctive blue.
I bought more jewelry and got into my car,
I took the Express Way North, exited at Bell Road,
And headed to way out west of the city.
At one point, I passed the shopping mall,
I thought about Monday’s appointments,
How a salesman's lot means he sits,
Marks time to wait his turn with buyers.
Late that afternoon on the concrete patio,
The one surrounding
The big swimming pool at the Community Center,
I buck-danced to the beat, which played
On the rock an’ roll, radio station.
Although it was already that Sunday’s dusk,
And the day’s high temperature had receded,
It still was ninety, over ninety degrees while I sat back
On the lounge chairs and watched Alexander,
Time and again, practice dives off the high board.
5.
Even then, it was long ago, and in Phoenix,
It was you! Darling, I had been waiting for you;
The desert air brought dream of you,
The shimmering, the uplifts, the vertical lines,
Up, upward, shafts of heat rising
Out across the desert vista,
Now I recognize it was a dream of you,
And this, my verse was racing,
I flashed on a fast and mighty steed,
I road atop a beast, it galloped through my mind,
Yet I had command
I managed to pull in the reins,
Halted its furious run, tied the horse up to the rail at the tip,
I hitched the reins to the post at the tip of my tongue.
As I watched the colors of the sunset, as I heard
The splash of the practiced head-first dives,
I was reciting poetry, not out loud, but to myself,
Though I knew not its power, no idea the prophecy,
I knew not the meaning of that woman,
Who I glimpsed,
Whose image I caught from from the corner of my eye,
Who walked out among the columns of earth fever,
And stood next to the Saguaros in the twilight,
Who appeared in an instant out on the horizon,
Seemingly, over and against the floor of the desert,
Yet before she disappeared, she nodded,
It was as if she had sanctioned the voice,
The true heart of these lines,
The cadences and syntax I repeat from once upon a time
And now so long ago, as if she bless me
Today at key board, and grants me
These words I use to describe a dream of you.
Long before I had ever made your actual acquaintance,
A figure in landscape,
I saw you, your form, at a time prior to when you were born.
At the airport, when security stopped me, I stood
In a booth whose sliding curtains dropped to the floor,
The jewelry I carried in my on-board luggage,
X ray showed a concentrated jumble of metal,
And as I awaited the woos and ahs of personnel,
When they opened my bags for inspection,
It was then that I began to wonder, and it remains
Fresh today, as if I describe events from only yesterday,
It was then I began to wonder, when you,
When your love might saunter in, make life complete.
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A DREAM OF YOU,
Desert Vision, A Poem in Five Parts
Sweetheart, I know you love me.
I know you appreciate the poetry.
For three years now I have struggled,
I have wanted to write an epic,
A great, big, love poem about us,
I sought to post the way this thing of ours went,
How it went right from the start,
All banners unfurled,
How time marshals forces
Though we go about our daily business,
And children are born, and, as they grow up, think,
Believe fervently that they are meant for one thing
Later to discover, underneath it all,
A new world order sweeps away the old.
I want to announce that I have learned
That the verity of prophecy remains unknown,
Until the actual event transpires.
The Word takes on meaning after the fact.
Headlines acclaim events;
Yet history proves otherwise,
Often something other than bold type might suggest.
Although the finite first meet the eye,
Spirit alights, it writes the script,
The real storyline often lies well beyond
First-glance tales of human endeavor …
We intend to do one thing, but, many times, later,
Discover, unwittingly we do another.
2.
Today I write, declare the moment
Yes, I say that is the way,
The way, it had actually had happened.
Now consider! I dedicate this verse to you;
Yet allow, if you please, that it records events,
Prior to our acquaintance,
Circumstance which had occurred years before we met,
Years before either of us heard each others' name.
Where do I get the nerve?
-- The actual gall of me, hey! --
I affirm that this poem tells a part of our story,
Which antecedes your birth.
The folly of it! I include you in a physical geography,
In a place on this planet you had not experienced,
An earth, whereupon your feet had never trod.
Yet, darling, I have seen you before, yes,
Once upon a time and so long ago.
This narrative propels me, no choice,
I do what destiny would have me do.
I found these words;
I had inked them once,
On lined, yellow, perforated sheet,
‘I sit at the desk, night after night,
And sometimes, it's even day and night,
Often I write on topics, quotidian and small,
On matters of no special interest,
Issues, which critics in essays declare,
Lack propriety and moment,
And do not belong to sphere of poetic ambition.
'Now years have passed,
And choice less still, I write.’
Earlier today, I had packed up your mail,
Readied the address to Coral Gables,
And when you later called and asked
How I was doing, me, under compulsion’s demand,
Lonely, slave to love and ardent desire,
I answered 'pathetic.'
No one else will have me.
It as though I have some terrible pox;
Other women see it and shun me.
My mirror image, however, it reminds me of you,
I cram my schedule, always insufficient time,
The day wants the hours,
I have endless lists ‘To Do’.
I isolate terribly, talk to no one for the week,
When friends reach out and telephone, I rush them off!
Honest! No time for idle talk, or chat.
.
No choice! I return to my desk.
I dread any date for lunch.
I pass on evening engagements.
Sorry! I want only you.
I just want to be with you.
Yet I have that other side,
More than everyday necessity and much more
Than simple expression of my love for you.
It is a confidence I wish to share with you and world,
About how I always knew that you were the girl for me,
Though I came to comprehend it, my great love,
This startling fact, only after the event;
You, only you, once you had entered my life.
I believe I might say it right,
Watch me now, and let’s see if I say it right!
3.
I remember Central Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona,
Danny’s store packed with Native American silver,
Bracelets, necklaces and rings, properly displayed
On racks, in trays, locked within showcases,
And on clear shelves, velvet pads, the array of colors,
Turquoise, coral, black onyx and mother of pearl,
Abalone, agates mined and cut to display their fire,
And Alexander, my son, maybe eight, no more than ten,
His years of age, playing behind the counters,
Next to the shotguns, diagonally propped,
On the floor twelve-gauge shells in open boxes,
Ready, should there be an extended engagement.
I share with you the times when, flying in
From Dallas, the grand noise, engines’ reversal
To land at Sky Harbor, the ground crew,
How they scrambled, and then,
Wheeled up the staircase,
The platform for debarkation, and me, I would descend
The steps full-tilt straight onto the tarmac,
Fahrenheit, ninety-five degrees in early morning,
A rental car awaited me, and I was off over to Dog Track,
To the swap meet that was unfolding and I sought
The cowboy named, Roadrunner, who always had
Tons of loot, the goods, every Sunday he brought a haul.
Though at his point, it, more dream than reality,
I recall the very special meeting, when traders
Lined up, raised hands, and one after the other,
Volunteered to say that jewelry great here and
Proclaimed that whosoever is welcomed into
The lounge camper, who greets the Navajo,
Both the man and wife and acts with propriety,
Slights his eyes and diverts his gaze,
And the traders at the meeting said that
The person who watches the children playing,
Their running across the white gravel parking lot,
Left and right, up and down, then unto the asphalt sidewalk,
Who enjoys those moments
When the children stop
And form a line to refresh themselves from
The water-cooled, stainless steel, floor-pedal fountain,
(It stood next to the right side of the pari-mutuel windows)
Who knows that the bright sparkling, that eye of the desert,
Quenches every human thirst and brings joy to the moment,
Upon that person, who has witnessed design,
Who has abstracted anagram from within
All the children’s scurry, who traces,
Out upon the open parking space, meaning,
Who divines new vision,
Who is able to see within the minds’ eye, the dance,
The dance holy ones once danced in godly regalia,
That person, who hears within the youngsters' feet
The drums, the rhythms ancestors had orchestrated,
So to let go, leave this material world,
And find entrance to separate reality,
The traders at the meeting, in-order, one-by-one,
Both arms raised up on high, heads flung back,
Palms stretched and fingers spread wide apart,
As if they reached and pressed upon the sky,
Called upon Great Talking God to sanctify their wish.
It was at that moment, the glory of it all,
They stopped and asked if one such person was present,
There at assembly of Sunday traders at the swap meet
The question became would there be any one to step forward,
Would anyone acknowledge the gift?
And when I answered, yeah
They bestowed their most precious title upon me,
And between the ghosts and the human beings
The word rang and cemented the union, ‘Friend’.
4.
Later that Sunday morning, I felt good magic
When a child ran up behind me,
He quickly, then, touched the back of my hand.
At noon, I met a Mexican friend up on South Mountain.
His house was painted a bright, distinctive blue.
I bought more jewelry and got into my car,
I took the Express Way North, exited at Bell Road,
And headed to way out west of the city.
At one point, I passed the shopping mall,
I thought about Monday’s appointments,
How a salesman's lot means he sits,
Marks time to wait his turn with buyers.
Late that afternoon on the concrete patio,
The one surrounding
The big swimming pool at the Community Center,
I buck-danced to the beat, which played
On the rock an’ roll, radio station.
Although it was already that Sunday’s dusk,
And the day’s high temperature had receded,
It still was ninety, over ninety degrees while I sat back
On the lounge chairs and watched Alexander,
Time and again, practice dives off the high board.
5.
Even then, it was long ago, and in Phoenix,
It was you! Darling, I had been waiting for you;
The desert air brought dream of you,
The shimmering, the uplifts, the vertical lines,
Up, upward, shafts of heat rising
Out across the desert vista,
Now I recognize it was a dream of you,
And this, my verse was racing,
I flashed on a fast and mighty steed,
I road atop a beast, it galloped through my mind,
Yet I had command
I managed to pull in the reins,
Halted its furious run, tied the horse up to the rail at the tip,
I hitched the reins to the post at the tip of my tongue.
As I watched the colors of the sunset, as I heard
The splash of the practiced head-first dives,
I was reciting poetry, not out loud, but to myself,
Though I knew not its power, no idea the prophecy,
I knew not the meaning of that woman,
Who I glimpsed,
Whose image I caught from from the corner of my eye,
Who walked out among the columns of earth fever,
And stood next to the Saguaros in the twilight,
Who appeared in an instant out on the horizon,
Seemingly, over and against the floor of the desert,
Yet before she disappeared, she nodded,
It was as if she had sanctioned the voice,
The true heart of these lines,
The cadences and syntax I repeat from once upon a time
And now so long ago, as if she bless me
Today at key board, and grants me
These words I use to describe a dream of you.
Long before I had ever made your actual acquaintance,
A figure in landscape,
I saw you, your form, at a time prior to when you were born.
At the airport, when security stopped me, I stood
In a booth whose sliding curtains dropped to the floor,
The jewelry I carried in my on-board luggage,
X ray showed a concentrated jumble of metal,
And as I awaited the woos and ahs of personnel,
When they opened my bags for inspection,
It was then that I began to wonder, and it remains
Fresh today, as if I describe events from only yesterday,
It was then I began to wonder, when you,
When your love might saunter in, make life complete.
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