KNOCK OUT

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KNOCK OUT




Describing the awful upset, the melancholy,
The force which has struck me so hard
That I have seemingly become unconscious
And have lost all capacity for right direction,
Has me contradicting every principle of sacred philosophy.

I am forced to postulate the existence of a physical soul.

Your absence, the thought of your
No longer being part of my life, has floored my spirit.

I fear that my vitality has been stopped.
My training in prayer has failed me.
I lack the muscle strength and the great breath,
Despite my belief in the audacity to hope,
I want the stamina to continue the match.

I have been hit, and I am down.
I bleed, darling, I bleed.
I struggle to my feet, I stand just before the ten-count.

Your blow has opened a cut above my eye.
What salve, what ointment staunches the blood!
The men in my corner struggle to fix it.

They will not let me face another round.

The bell keeps clanging,
I hear the terrible roar of the crowd.

The referee enters center ring. I have lost the fight.

SEEKING A MUSE

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SEEKING A MUSE,
Personal Classified Advertisement


I know what to do!
I am not at a loss, despondent, or down and out,
Not at all! I've got plenty of options.
I'll run an ad on Craigslist,
Or a personal in one of those free weeklies.

Hey, there are plenty dating sites on the web!

I'll write, Single, White, Male,
Looking for a muse,
A girl to inflame my verse,
Make my heart sing a wondrous refrain.

I'll say she must be educated and smart,
Tall, slim, and good with money,
A brunet, who has a pleasant smile,
And whose buttocks own an exquisite form.

I'll require her voice to possess subtle timbre,
Her smell to be sweet and, above all,
I'll demand that she be
Disciplined in work and habit,
Someone to put me to bed early,
And early to arise, a woman who might
Qualify suitable mother for a child or two.

Oh! Did I forget to mention?
I want large brown eyes and an olive complexion.

So don't think, don't believe for a moment,
That you are elemental, like some sustenance crucial
To happiness and breathe, for you are not. Ha!
You see how easily you can be replaced!

Get it straight! I know what to do.
Honest! It's not that big of a deal.
I'll run an ad on Craigslist,
Or a personal in one of those free weeklies.

Hey there are plenty dating sites on the web!

SWEET TALK

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SWEET TALK


Out in Arizona my Dad grew roses.
He embraced the great merit,
Loved to say,
How he enjoyed cultivating his own garden.

That spot he tended along side the house,
It was the love of his retirement.

I saw those roses disporting,
Performing and they were real pretty,
Showing off their tightly petaled spiraling centers.
Seems they climbed the trellises just to flaunt,
Dazzle the onlooker with the grace of their towering ascent,
And what beauty in their many colors,
Their outfits boasting red, and pink,
And the truest bright of yellow,  
While others bore garb,
Which were infussed with hues of gold and orange.

With that said, and knowlingly I set to rivalry with nature,
What once for me had remained secret and unspoken,
This time I’ll express my feelings loud and clear,
Now one and all will hear.

Those roses never flowered like you.
No! They never looked the way,
The way you looked tonight, darling.

No doubt some may find this verse coy,
No more than borrowed phrase and imagery,
Notions common in the language of the heart,
Yet I swear to it. I tell the truth,
The same as if I stood in court of law
My right hand raised, the left upon the Holy Book.

By solemn oath I declare,
My flattery means to please your heart,
The same as would the wrappings on any special gift.

So help me, honey, know these words, 
My terms of endearment, honest and sincere.

ETTA, 1958

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 ETTA, 1958


He had twisted his ankle.
His foot was swollen and it ached.
It hurt to the degree that he could no longer concentrate.
He had lost the capacity to figure.
His mind no longer able to grasp even very simple things,
His eyes appeared vacant, as if in a trance.

He was young and he kissed the back of her hand,
He kissed her about the face,
He kissed her eyelids,
And he rested his lips at the base of her neck.

He had kissed the skin all-over both her shoulders.

He and she were minors, and their ardency,
Its possible consequence worried their parents.

There was no question about the boy being strong.

Within the warmth of a late August, summer night,
The couple walked hand in hand along a dirt path.
They followed a trail along side truck-farm fields,
Alternate tracts of cabbage and corn,
Which then became a shortcut,
A line through an expanse of crabgrass scrub.

The land rose a few inches,
Slightly above the counter-sunk, worn-earth channel,
Suggesting a beaten path, a safe passage,
Perhaps once a native American footway,
Of an age older than most would dream.

They headed toward an old Dutch Elm.
The tree grew beside the muddy bank of a creek,
Whose occasional flow emptied west into a river,
A river the early French settlers had named Des Plaines.

They thought that they might sail away upon the waters.

The Milky Way seemed to stretch out across
The vault of deep space more like some
Will-o-wisp patch of terrestrial weather
Than the starry edge of our own galaxy.

Yet more, much more than the taste of salt --
The tiny sweat above her brows, more than how
Moisture had collected and now had formed
Fetchingly to glisten upon her shoulders,

It was a night whose such awesome, absolute clarity
Enhanced a once-in-a-life-time, white light streak,
At its end a mighty, bright flash erased the sky.

Though now near midnight, all nature cast a quick shadow.

The day's heat permeated the late summer evening.
They were standing before the great Dutch Elm,
The tree beside the muddy bank of the creek,
The small, occasional water emptying west into the river,
The river the early French settlers had named Des Plaines.

In a momentary all-over illumination,
The youths saw their silhouette.
They were merged as one.
They saw themselves fused into a single shade.

A snap of thunder followed, and, there, in the instant,
All of heavenly influence fell upon their embrace.

And when they turned and gazed upon each other,
Before either of them spoke a word,
They had come to believe that
In a book all their days had been written.
The verse which enfolds telling of this one moment
Had already been composed.

Though still no gathering of the waters into the seas,
Prior to Earth's becoming the name for dry land,
Likewise before the glory of first morning or first sun's set,
Even before the beginning when the Spirit of God
Announced light and illuminated the darkness,

They had been granted affection.

Before the beginning, 
Before the Lord brought into being 
The blazing brilliance across the infinite deep,
And called it good,
They had been blessed with ever grateful remembrance.

This one moment had already been written.

RENDEZVOUS

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RENDEZVOUS*


Though it seems that we have grown distant,
I am readily able to reach out and touch you.

My feelings steadfast, my heart apparent,
Even that this verse fails to mention your name.


Albeit we are housed in poor mortal frame,
Some one in a future time will think of us.

However history conspires to hush our story,
Destiny speaks and reveals to world
The book in which all our days were already written.



*A original love poem adapted from a verse by Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, and more popularly in the English-speaking world simply as Rumi. He was a 13th-century Persian poet.



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PEARL NECKLACE*

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PEARL NECKLACE


I shall travel to Hyderabad,
And there select for you the very best of pearls.

The stars have already wrought anklets to adore your feet.

I plan to use the power of my tears
To knot a strand of special luster to lay about your neck.

Wealth and fame will come from you;
These are things that Destiny has ordained.
Yet this my sorrow remains absolutely my own.

Behold the luminosity of the nacre, and appraise
How the space tied between each of the jewels conspires,
Enhances the subtlety of the array now falling upon your breasts.

Touch with your fingers the magic of the spherical splendor.
Walk to the mirror, look upon yourself -- what value,
What elegance yours at the expense of my misery!

 

I call upon you. Turn your heart about.
Hurry home!  Hurry back to my lips,

And let me hold you in my arms again.



*An Original Poem Adapted After Tagore’s “Chain of Pearls,”
Rabindranath Thakur, anglicised to Tagore, He sometimes is refered to by his nickname, Gurudev. An Inidian poet, Bengali,
he had been awarded the Noble Prize for Literature in 1913.

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.”