it all
so spoken
retooled in white
sly spoken words      
not heard in public
self derogatory and hidden
you say to who you believe is white
when I am red, just hidden, have a hatred given
from my father's being driven on a long walk their land taken
my soul hears and  i keep quiet to colored words said on the sly I
take it alone wonder why, I am not speaking, up, for my forefathers,
all, who have been taken enslaved driven killed by this white supremacism. My black and yellow and yellow brothers.
I feel. But keep quiet.
feel like a *****.

I lift heavy covers to expose
What's mine to behold.
Snow skin, sweet drops of
Salty dew from within.

Flesh female, lady
Bones, choir cells whisper
Their name; Woman.
Woman. Woman.  

Eyes smiling. Mouth smiling.
******* smiling. Womb
Smiling. The rest either
Giggles or shines.

Tattoo of the Midgard Serpent
Around her upper thigh.
Snake of Norse mythology,
Coiled around the world,

Own tail in mouth. When it
Lets go, the world will end.
Its fangs are mine in you.
Poison lust. Venom love.

Refusing to release the
Ragnarok of our common heart,
I slowly kiss its every scale in
Submission.

the autumn wind acts as
a forerunner of the coming winter

leaves fall, and life slows in order
to make room and prepare for
something new

a slow anticipation builds,
as living creatures prepare for the winter

I was never good at waiting for winter,
it always felt too desolate and alone

today is a new day as I feel the autumn wind
with eager anticipation of winter,
because I know with certainty no winter lasts forever; it is the forerunner of spring

I wait in silent joy for new life to grow
and prepare my heart for change

Her stolen heart was left unannounced at my door step
I know  the last place she would like to look for it, is this.
Yet I kept it warm and safe, with in the flannel of love
still wet with the tears she once shed,  but tattered a lot;
I'll keep it like times before, till she has the presence of mind,  
to retrace the steps to my door step, she could never forget.

This being the usual place to find her discarded heart
many come knocking my door, inquire what is it's state
plain curious they are, more of a usual ritual, familiar
"You do cradle it far too long, isn't it still a child, refusing to grow?"
I pretend ignorance, loyal to her, the heart that was once mine alone,
I'll never let down my split love,sell or barter what is left in that love
only wait for her without rancor till the tired foot fall of hers
echoes after the pale moon has risen, climbed high up in the sky,
hesitantly at last she will come to my door, find, it's again discarded,
as ever I am the only one,  her last resort, though she hates to accept.

Then she weeps leaning on my chest, grief haunts her without fail
far a while, she cries, as she limps back with her brooding heart
I go to sleep, thinking how a love once moved  mountains,
                                               ­                                              had gone waste

into fragments or memories pieces
of this
shards of that
Many broke
*******
yellow
yell
black

white
sight
blinded
sighted
in tiny remnants
on the floor.
It is a travesty
or comedy
trying
to puzzle
this interlocking
riddle, or
solve
and paint the whole
picture.

A poem
is quite like,
a life.

In his dreams the Vally in the throes of efflorescence call out
in a language heart alone understands;
from the hanging bridge over Ganga, he views the ice-capped peaks,
Vally's ***** extravagance and the river's turbulence.

The river runs too deep, at times he finds,
the currents treacherously strong,
from the window of his *Ashram, the view is clear.
She bathes naked, alone on a step submerged in water,
eyes feast on her moonlit curves,
the pleasures skin deep, camouflage the existential dilemmas ! he smiles
In memory his Guru speaks:"Eat only those fruits that make one immortal"
Yet another Himalayan journey in search of the fruit tree unknown

It's too late to redefine, life and love when the avalanche thunders above
on his lonesome path, every step uphill is fraught with slippery stones,
one way leads to the top, to bathe in the light of  the star reaching down

Some days end in too long nights, too cold, the sun shows up hesitant,
her body has the warmth that reaches to his icy depths,
a ****** alone could penetrate, but it still wouldn't melt
Himalayan silence, chant of Ganga, the ghost of a ******
that follows him  like a faithful dog, are all these fragments of a dream
or realities stringed together from many different planes?

I had no meaning
till you picked me up

your tongue rolled
turned me gold

Me a mere word
till you first noticed me

and since that dawn
held to me tightly

You made me your part
saw I was spread

with me in your heart
you grew unafraid

As in you I was grown
healed your inner scar

you ceased to feel alone
when found me within her

On my wings you fly high
hardest wall you can break

reach the far end of sky
go on mountainous trek

Yet it hurts me real bad
when I see world battle torn

then I ask myself why
can’t you use me as weapon

a learning experience
- the detailed
timing and precision

- a certain etiquette
in the rise and fall
of hands and feet

i learned the walk
- mirrored on the toe
of a spit-shined boot

shooting imaginary doves
in white gloves -

the proper fold
of the cloth
- tight and taught
with stars above

the tri-fold - not
a trifling thing we're told

the color of a mother's tears
and grip of a father's grief -
the why in the cry of a child

- sad song of the bugler
on a windswept hill
standing in the detail.

r ~ 10/29/14

The doctor probed my eyes
stethoed to feel my lung
had my mouth wide prised
got rolled out my tongue!

He gave it deep long mulls
hmm was all he said
in his grip throbbed my pulse
beating fast afraid!

Hmm he muttered once again
there’s no problem specific
but for that undefined pain
that you say is making you weak!

More apparent is the darned thing
that has really blighted your face
beneath your eyes the black ring
you are counting stars I guess!

May I know what keeps you awake
why you find sleep bothersome
keep tossing on bed till daybreak
pray tell me don’t remain mum!

Poor doctor how he would ever know
best time for poeming is the night
when crystal dreams in moon glow
pour out from heart with might!