P(oem)-A-D(ay) n° 4

my voices reign in silence
the strange people have cast aside
their fondness for exciting gray matter
their words have faded
to no longer admonish
or coax with coy repartee
no more murmuring

internal blizzard creates turmoil
upon the mime of my mind
white nothingness surrounds me
an infinite visual stimulation
yet I cannot count the flakes
nor revel in their diversity
snowfall also reigns in silence
this storm which numbs my brain
is a first warning
a demise for my never-ending story

if my voices have deserted me
can my heartbeat
drum a path to eternal music


the warning of silence
[2012.4.4…a]

P(oem)-A-D(ay) n° 3

I have epitaphs to sell
death outlasts life in barrenness
where salt-poisoned rivers snake
in labyrinths through sandscape
beauty is a souvenir

I have stories to tell
unbelievable tales, fairy dances
falsehood spun to spurn eternity
but the songs of the wind are silent

outstretched over the graveyard
I stand tall and gnarled, twisted and proud
I alone have survived a hundred decades
my strong limbs battle the elements’ disdain
they leave shadows as vast as the horizon
my heart-shaped leaves wither twice yearly
the first are pale like the moon’s reflection
the second blaze like blood-fall
my flowers are like extinct snowflakes
death’s tears nourish my roots
they reach bedrock where dreams linger
and I, the last witness
may never sleep

I have secrets that quell
endless days of blinding light
like love’s destiny carved deep
weeping words pierce my bark
children die alone
generations of ghosts

there are no more epitaphs to sell
my voices reign in silence


the last witness
[2012.3.4…a]

P(oem)-A-D(ay) n° 2

wishes of a poet trying to avoid foolishness
my lifetime verse is listed in reams
my fingers whisper only pianissimo songs

dying

like other dreams quickly vying for death’s grace
who will recite simple prayers for its eternal soul
when I cover it in soft loamy earth?

wild violets

planted in ceramic under a glass bell
poised atop a marble tombstone, purple
like the bruises clawing at my soul

pain does not…

allow my freedom
the least movement jars each nerve
overdose or amputation might kill temptation

I cannot write
brushes only paint in abstract splashes
music, that once sparkled with two hands

has become inaudible sound

spoken with a shaky voice
caught by posterity’s microphone
I have epitaphs to sell


the silent hand
[2012.2.4…a]

anchors

I have steel-blue eyes, a white beard
my heart and soul are ragged, both have known love's illumination and hate's stark shadows
today I struggle to merely be me, I have lost my last earthly anchor
I will not apologize for who I am


anchors
[2012.23.1...a]

for Amani

there is always a smile in her soft girlish voice
she rarely speaks of her life as an exile
of her homeland close to war
of indiscriminate death colliding with family and friends
the heartache of seeing too much...
what has to happened to her youth?


for Amani
[2012.21.1...a]

winter storm

my heart is a grey, blustery winter storm
drenched in rain and the thunder of lost gods who do not understand
the tormented folly of humanity


winter storm
[2012.19.1...a]

lost

lost, one small hour at a time
drunken stupor, that first hour of sleep, the slow returning reality after the grace of "Om Nama Shivaya"
she forever remains dead
and I damned by her lack of love


lost
[2012.18.1...a]

while the tea cools

through invisible tears, I notice nothing
but an absent pain that should paralyze me
the cat covets birds visiting his balcony
a pot of green tea cools
I answer the phone and console a weeping friend
life returns to a calmer pace
and I know in the years to come 
a larger hole of loneliness will slowly befriend and tame my grief


while the tea cools
[2012.8.1...b]

"stormy weather"

the first storm has passed, winds die, rain dries, sunlight tries for good cheer
the second storm will follow me to my death :
mother leaves her riches to my sister's children
I retain the black memories, still a pauper 


"stormy weather"
[2012.6.1...a]

I am cold

a trembling seizes my gut, sixth sense of foreboding
the telephone had an urgency when it rang, I ran, but got an unusual rhythmic beeping
the angel of death is visiting my doorstep far on the other side of the world
I am cold, love is never enough 


I am cold
[2012.5.1...a]