Posts for June 16, 2024 (page 11)

Coal black eyes burrow my depths
you possess talent for comforting or receding.

yet you have your swagger
annoyed to be brushed
pout when scolded
demand structure for
mealtime and walks.

Allow young paws to caress you
but dodge open hands
atop your head.

Sense human angst and fear
snuggling by their side
just as you sidle up for
yours during a storm.

We live in harmony 
as long as I obey
Sir Clancy’s rules.
Happy 15th birthday Little Man!

I wrote this poem in 2020 and am sharing again for Clancy’s 15th birthday!

Bri and I are also great at odors.
Neither of us has “officially” showered
in a few months. The water’s been turned off
for 90 days.  

I washed myself in the Pronto Market bathroom
yesterday. Pants at the ankles, balls draped
over the ledge of the sink, towels at the ready,
stolen bar soap, hot water.  

I close the ceremony with a couple
of those disinfectant wet naps people use
to wipe down their carts, which stings a bit.
And this makes me feel like a success.  

In some very small way I can’t afford. Like,
good coffee.

Apply pressure and the needle
slips through and
tears skin

Still not sure what was accomplished
by darning
your sock
then
soaking it in lighter fluid

called it a ritual
the representation
of a promise 
complete

fire rips through redwoods
cones fly open 
adapted to destruction 
determened to grow again

                    11 Israeli soldiers killed

        and Tony cannot talk about it
        with his second wife,
        although he married her
        in Israel.

        They cannot talk politics about it.
        To do so would cause strife
        as old as the histories of her
        Palastine and his Israel.

        In American, they endure it,
        for they have two sons and a life
        far removed from her
        leaning and his loyalty to Israel.

        Tony bought her a Porshe
        as a peace offering  yesterday.

I almost go to church

I feel the missing

two parts trinity

you are only apparition

nearly a figment of my imagination

never phantasm enough

you cast

your shadow, a reel on repeat

to capture credulous fish

alluring

all breaking breaking breaking

bread that never rises

 from crucifixion

you holy

godforsaken

ghost

“Remember the wind. Remember her voice. 

Sometimes
The ache
In my heart
spreads to my body
And I cannot  move.

taken from a telegram from Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel to PresidentJohn F. Kennedy, June 16, 1963, agreeing to a White House meeting on racial justice

His proposal came in caps 
“SPECIAL DELIVERY”
three times underlined.
JFK
months away
from a bullet through his brain,
and Heschel,
graying in his haste
to put things right,
destined to walk with a King.

“CHURCH, SYNAGOGUE HAVE FAILED, THEY MUST
R EPENT . ”

The “they” typed
between the lines
a space in “r epent”
the period widowed.
Words drunk with urgency
staggered across the paper
imploring their reader:

 “I PROPOSE    THAT YOU MR  PRESIDENT    DECLARE    STATE OF
MORAL EMERGENCY .”

Still, police manned
the water cannons,
defending deafened ears.
Klansmen kept killing.

“…THE NEGRO PROBLEM WILL BE LIKE THEWEATHER,”
he prophesied – “EVERYBODY TALKS ABOUT IT BUT NO BODY
DOES ANYTHING ABOUT IT.”

The “no” and “body” tenuously penciled together, proofread
on the fly, no longer a no to a body. Or any body.

And like the weather…
still it rained,
still it rains,
still it reigns,

his “MARSHALLPLAN” for “NEGROS”
archived online
with his printed plea
for “SPIRITUAL XXXX AUDACITY”

Feeling the fire
under my heels. I’m burning
and joining the stars.

The friar brushes colored images on the page, opening worlds.