Posts for June 8, 2018 (page 3)

beat the beat down put it on worldstar bruh
we went too far like after pearl harbor
wrapped up in our flag unfurl the ardor 
yo my word is product, yeah they’ll learn to laud us
father pardon me, got adam’s girl in the garden
apple of my eye, snakes slitherin 
sat up in the sky, paid dividends
the kids fiddlin, make em take ritalin
attention span straight killin em
the hooks i bait then reel em in
surfin on the soundwaves
workin with who’s round the way
can’t be loungin these days
gotta pounce on the bass
like a lion on a zebra
why you tryin to be caesar 
why you lyin to the people
down with the tyrants
lift up the upheaval 
hard to do it while i’m puffin on the cheeba
but fuck it’s regal when it’s bumpin through the speakers
now who’s not equal when you stumpin all ya teachers
now you humpin in the bleachers 
on a wednesday
live your life like you’re stuntin on the reaper
it ain’t a grim way
but feelin like a fucked up creature
grimace on my face 
a homeless man told me i’ll turn over a new leaf or
two, now give me some change
believe me dude
there’s a lotta fucked up shit that live in my brain 
he said see me through the pain
ain’t talkin bout a window cuz he ain’t got one
some things are that simple
random acts of kindness are my temple
keep ya head bowed 
remember for what you set out
but the paths keep divertin
and the past is uncertain
whitewashed history 
time lost in mystery
now ipods and misery
byproducts of trickery
buy products free delivery 
we too chicken spinnin on the rotisserie 
all our tax dollars spend it on artillery 
then they say it’s defendin our liberty
so the world we winnin and claimin victory?
see through that shit like listerine
keep it fresh 
be the best 
you can be
best believe 
with every breath 
a different destiny 
rest in peace 

His barks are Browning shots,
blackthorn berries, one at a time
through the neck of a gin bottle.

Beauty
and griefs
come to grow us.
 

Laughter spills across the table.
Forks piercing the fudge-smothered
confection
piled atop a cheap, ceramic plate.
Whimsical conversation,
whispered around gooey, chocolate
smiles,
long forgotten.
Time spent together,
Cherished.

One of my metaphors has come to life.
Never before have I seen
a human being and a butterfly
occupying the same physical body
as you, bouncing from distraction to distraction,
drawing out the sweet nectars of a drunken fantasy
while reducing me to a chaser
with only my bare hands to catch you.

But butterfly flight is ill equipped for human problems.
So determined to learn your own garden,
you fail to notice the scarcity of rain
that threatens to take it all away.
Here, my words from previous poems
come back as a heartbreaking message to myself.
The hero, outmatched by erratic whimsy
has never been destined to catch the butterfly.

Still, I will continue to follow you
believing wilted flowers will someday fail you,
may sometimes try to creep closer
in hopeful attempts at guiding misdirection,
always paying attention to know that someone is.
Meanwhile, I’ll pass time weaving a net
should a day come you remember you are human
and in need of a friend to break your fall.

Gemini season.
As mercurial as last year’s, I stumble less drunk on drink, and more drunk on honey.
I’ve been grinning like a kind of madman king, tiptoeing a silver lining.
This has been a period of joy, like an undigestable foreign object in my gut, but I want to keep it there.
Taurus drunken Taurus season, gave way to beehive twins.

What did we look at
before we looked at screens,
the name we have accepted
for those flat rectangles
of pixels and nearly indestructible glass
my husband and I nightly bend
our heads toward for one last glimpse
of the wide world beyond
before we curve ourselves
around each other’s sleep?

This morning miles from him
and home I sit surrounded
by flush frames of cedar
to hold the metal mesh
of screen nearly invisible
between the woods and me.
Jagged slivers of blue
and sunlight strewn though canopy
of oak and pine is all I see
of world beyond this green.

“Lens edged with frost”
were my doctor’s words
for “cataract”
A closet poet, perhaps,
though his chiding scientific particulars
soon collided with my moment of hope
At least a glimpse
of simile
passed through my ice-rimmed eyes today
not itemized on the bill
but paid for by this poem

HER bronzed wide shoulders tensed
like pink marble, 
ready to skewer a foe or flee
such classic dignity in alarm

I WILL calm you
proud soldier, distainful of the charms
I feel as essence
before you run away
on smooth sleek legs
fallen then in wiggling centipede toes
frantic on your chitinous back
pinned into place by the archetype
of a remorseless end
dilated pupils
fixed gaze upward from
the valley of decision
as you take a woman’s form again

BE STILL
settle into a regular rhythm
not distraught, not accepting
not a vulnerable
confused bird jumping 
at a touch
almost nothing
fragile
I am drawn in, mesmerized
wanting to direct you
but you vanish
like a fairy whose 
work is done
or Mary,
Mother of God.

INCORPOREAL
nonparallel
shy virgin
who bewitches

CARELESS of your
gifts
not meaning harm
in truth distracted

WE THE invisible limbo dwellers
bathe in your brief anxiety and lick
like spoiled children
a taste like honey
my slug of tongue struck
silent by your lightning 
gaze beyond this balded head,
leaving a burning tree
trunk that will smolder
on the horizon
for three days

a sign

teach me how to say, “giraffe,” Da

“Twiga,” he said

You could still remember every word of Swahili after all these years

teach me how to say, “friend,” Da

“Rafiki,” he said

It’s hard to look down at your lifeless body 

teach me how to say, “I love you,” Da

“Nakupenda,” he said

I’m sorry the mortician didn’t get your mouth right, Da

Nakupenda.