Mummy with long hair
The sun white
I had been laughing
My hands in her hands too small

موهای مادرم بلند بود
خورشید سفید افتاده است
من خندیده بودم
...دست هایم در دستش کوچک بود

Madness moves me
That curtain is
  T  O  R  N
I scattered it
in purple shatters
on the shadow
across the sidewalk.
  from the  moon.
The whippoorwill
   S I N G S
out of tune
to match
a bad
    harmonica and
a rusty piccolo.
The box
that held it all
was auctioned off
    There was no
highest bidder.
The city
        trembles
from the
urgency of need
And none will make
    an offer.
Madness falls in
   L O V E
with unrequited horror
and gives birth
to pandemonium
  which is
marked down eighty-five
    percent
But only if
the flags are      flying.
Outside
comes in from
the cold
through windows
   with no     curtains
stepping over
purple stains
on badly
threadbare carpets
while
    the loom
goes right on
weaving
               *ljm

The drawing books with The
yellow lined paper
Are just the black stars by pens...

برگه های زرد خط دار دفتر نقاشی
...ستاره های خودکار سیاه است

I heard a cry in the night,
A thousand miles it came,
Sharp as a flash of light,
My name, my name!

It was your voice I heard,
You waked and loved me so—
I send you back this word,
I know, I know!

so I take a break from being profound , a
minute to be whom I am,
a minute to be real for you,
for all no favors needed,
if not for all you nice people here
on Hello Poetry,
there is no telling where I would be,
so take heed again, at my admonishment,
perchance or don't, you
all are great people , even those who nitpick or make
sly remarks,
that is part of life
and you have given
me one. Thanks!

once an old man taught me, his knowing
whether he realized it or not,
he showed me love and affection ,
when I didn't deserve it.
He stood by me even though I was
a down in the dirt dereliction,
not worthy of any one's
caring love or attention.
He must have been a wiser one than me.
Now I know he was.