Even the rich
have cement boxes
full of ****
buried in their back yards.

We are all of us
but one errant ****** flush away
from being up to our ankles
in yesterday's horrors.

Remember this when shopping for shoes.

I lie on my back at midnight
hearing the marvelous strange chime
of the clocks, and know it's mid-
night and in that instant the whole
world swims into sight for me
in the form of beautiful swarm-
ing m u t t a worlds-
everything is happening, shining
Buhudda-lands,
bhuti

blazing in faith, I know I'm
forever right & all's I got to
do (as I hear the ordinary
extant voices of ladies talking
in some kitchen at midnight
oilcloth cups of cocoa
cardore to mump the
rinnegain in his
darlin drain-) i will write
it, all the talk of the world
everywhere in this morning, leav-
ing open parentheses sections
for my own accompanying inner
thoughts-with roars of me
all brain-all world
roaring-vibrating-I put
it down, swiftly, 1,000 words
(of pages) compressed into one second
of time-I'll be long
robed & long gold haired in
the famous Greek afternoon
of some Greek City
Fame Immortal & they'll
have to find me where they find
the t h n u p f t of my
shroud bags flying
flag yagging Lucien
Midnight back in their
mouths-Gore Vidal'll
be amazed, annoyed-
my words'll be writ in gold
& preserved in libraries like
Finnegans Wake & Visions of Neal

A star has fallen, from the sky
A poet’s life, has just flown by
I saw it plummet, watched its plume
It hit the earth, to meet its doom
A sudden blaze, a flash of light
Its aura arched, into the night
Its light then dimmed, I saw it die
A cry arose, and I know why
The words this soul, would have produced
Will now fall silent, and not be used
BOEMS BY JA 439

WHY ARE POETS LEAVING.... HP

I hope you'll write me letters
from the land
where poetry always dances in front of your eyes
and music never dies.

You left without any notice
no word goodbye
you flew in a second
when I thought you were feeling alive.

You left me with the memories
of some drunk nights
when we were stupid and young
and didn't know
that life is just a dream
of the everlasting death.

Now I am sitting next to your forever bed
feeling the cold ground
and dreaming
about one more day
some last words
a kiss on the forehead
your bright eyes
shining upon mine.

and I wish
you could hear me as I whisper amongst tears  

"I hope you'll write me letters..."

I went out this morning
to clear the cobwebs
off the walking path
though truth be told
it was too cold for spiders.
The plants and trees
were more or less
hospitable.
That one **** spit
seeds at me --
will have to remember
to learn his name later.
The pawpaw trees
are looking well.
I greeted all the ones
on my level.
The violets winked.
A woodpecker drummed.
There were no still waters--
but I swear,
He restoreth my soul.

Another day of anguished waiting
My earthly life, now put on hold
Another day, that I am hating
Of my death, I have been told

My life is now an hour glass
My days, those grains of sand
Veiled by tears, I watch them pass    
As I am funneled, to my end

I cannot slow or stop the flow
Each grain, thus bleeds my heart
All earthly things, I should let go
But I'm yet, not ready to depart
  
My sorrow strikes like lightning
Piercing bolts of what’s to come
My doubts and fears keep heightening
Until deaths hand does me succumb

In this world, I’m just a speck
My life, sifting into death
As that last grain, slips past the neck
I’ll take my final breathe

I wonder if, I’ll fly on wings
Or be prodded by a scythe
Will my remorse, then save my soul
When I am forced, to leave this life
BOEMS BY JA 498

Tonight I'm an A minor with a touch of chorus
A piece of blues contoured with the reverb call of -
the devil , wah pedal contortion at the seventeenth
fret of misery ...

Here's this marble heart to give you
Sculpted by the schoolyard scrapes
And kitchens grapes
Fed one by one
Cool and sweet beneath my tongue.
A wooden heart that's held inside
These metal ribs to catch my sighs-
And when I feel the need to flee
I'll kick start this rusted knee.
Inside this ancient Chinese vase
Is my very lovely face.
Valuable to only me-
Filled with cracks that you can't see.
My fingers long, the wedding band
For I married sugar sand
My hair is heaps of fireflies
Who whisper sweet their bedroom lies
And you will take me by the thread
That pulls me back into the bed?
And you will take your time to paint
Straight lines that divide the saint?
And you will watch my crippled frame
See Monet inside my pain?
I'll open up the garden skies
To meet him where the trestles rise.
For I have met a man today
This time, I may not run away.
In my outstretched redwood palm
Fate has left me coins and calm.
Bite, my lover, as they quiver-
The lips that kiss you,
Bite the giver.




Sahn 4/13/16

When we and the world, take pleasure in peace
When we, wars and persecutions cease

When we, overcome hatred, torture and pain
When we, vow to never, use them again

When we, can look at each other, face to face
When we, can see no disability, no colour, no race

When we, love our neighbors, like our own daughter
When we, let our hearts become pure, like a babes in her mother

When we, rejoice in the good fortune of others
When we, acknowledge that we’re sisters and brothers

When we understand, as humans, what we should be
When we, disencumber our souls, set them free

When we, strive to each other uphold
When we, are ready to HIS light behold

When we, let our GODS shine equally bright
When we, trust and believe, in each other’s light

When we, see our lights, merge into one
Then, HE will proclaim, “MY work is done”
BOEMS BY JA 475

Dear Emily,

You may know me.
Sometimes when poets read my words,
they call me that other Emily.
You were the first.
I found you when I was a little girl.
My grandmother gave me a book.
And there you were.
I lost myself in your words so often
that I started to remember them.
I took you with me wherever I went
and when I was lonely in a crowd
there you were, my lovely companion.
They said you had trouble
learning to tell time, and so did I.
My hair is chestnut, too--
with a little gray showing here and there.
My eyes are brown.
I don't have a white dress, though.
I have a gray sheer
with white window pane pattern.
I wish our gardens connected
sometime
so that we could meet at the fence
and share receipts.
You might like my blackberry cake.
A cup of tea. A glass of sherry.
I wonder if you knew that you were
extraordinary.
Your gifts not just poetry.
You were a sentient person
surrounded by the deaf and blind.
You saw more.
Heard more
than your neighbors.
I just wanted to say that I understand.
We are alike in many ways.

Your most obed. servant,

Emily