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 Feb 2021 ju
Carlo C Gomez
~
The beauty
Of your nest
Lies in knowing
What hides within
Is better than the rest

A glimpse through your foliage
Reveals a soft calyx
The petals of which are
The enthroned souls of the faithful
But a trap door nonetheless

When I enter
You will sigh
When I keep at it
You will know why
Angels sing

~
 Feb 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
I hold out my face
to the society of her gaze,
while a dusk erupts
to a three day blow,
& chapels of snow
jilt into soot knots
beneath a cruel
broadcloth dune.
I hold out my face -
but now to an absence.
Thousands of miles
sway in the poplars
before flying away,
away from me.
 Feb 2021 ju
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
There is nothing but the murmur of your breathing as the silver moon cutting across the darkness spreads its luminous light across white sheets. I am the keeper of the silence. You are the keeper of the sensuous. I kneel beside you on the bed, gazing at your flaxen hair. You are asleep now. I am enthralled.  The rest of the room is in darkness, highlighted only by silver streams, a chiaroscuro by the ghost of Giotto. I kiss you lightly on the forehead. You do not awaken. I begin to pull the white sheet gently from your shoulders to below your knees, a panoply of pulchritude. Silence and darkness and silver streams are timeless. Sleep, dear Sarah. I am the keeper of the silence, a post more regal than a throne, a crown. We are at the epicenter of love. Sleep, dear Sarah, sleep.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
 Feb 2021 ju
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Prizes, awards, ribbons?
How about a kiss, a hug, a "thank you,"
a memory instead, knowing inside
that you remained true to yourself,
to the inner worth that is in everyone,
sacred and inviolate?
The prizes, awards, and ribbons
remind me of the shiny stars
your 3rd-grade teacher stuck
on your paper after you had answered
all the addition problems correctly.
We have turned our existence inside-out.
We still do not know the locus of our worth,
which is within each of us.
Shakespeare and Michelangelo--
how many prizes and awards and ribbons
did they win? No wonder Hemingway
shot himself dead in Ketchum,
as have so many others.
Remember always the poem is the prize.  

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
 Feb 2021 ju
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Some live in houses that their love turn into homes while others live in mansions empty but for silver and servants. Some hear voices angelic, transcendent, while others listen to lies of presidents and pretenders. Some feel love so deeply for those of us who suffer silently while others feel hate for all because they hate themselves. Some touch tenderly those they love while others hit with words and fists. Some will give a helping hand while others simply step over homeless bodies on sidewalks in December's cold. What all should know is that we are one, and as Donne once wrote many years ago, when one dies, we are all the less.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
 Feb 2021 ju
Ayesha
Could I have seen them,
I’d tell you
in words—tunes—or hues.
but there’s more an eye can do

an eye can want.

cobblestones—
wooden benches
Skeleton trees, and pretty profiles
Sometimes, crimson skies
or crimson dirts— liquids even.
—she touches all she wants

          she wants all—
glimmering,
       teasing, deceiving—
Black boots on cement old
—yellowed pages sewed together.
  she wants all.

an eye can breathe.
And that was where they came
in caravans.
—inhale

perhaps snow-covered grass
   Or cracked desks
Perhaps trees laden with beings or
just—nothing.

Could I have heard them,
I’d tell you
in clinking bangles— carved ice— or weeping flutes
Could I have—
—could I.

they walked in— nay
flew. Nay, swam.
nay—
Could I have fathomed—

Carried torches, I think.
they marched deep into my caverns
—carried mirrors they.

what of the paw-prints engraved in mud
Crumpled letters
    lying naked in puddles— nay.
my caverns bore silk smoke over velvet nights.
dark—
and dreary and dying
and dead—

but they marched still
And their torches hissed.
Sapphire boots on sooty rugs—
     They marched.
They sang—nay.
painted— nay, moulded a
world out of cinders—
Nay.
Could I have touched, I'd know—

on every turn and every crease
They placed a mirror pure  
    as an infant’s tear
—or maybe a sharpened gem
who would dare to know—

In every dungeon and every hall
Their stares flickered like neon serpents
—nay.
Sun-licked butterflies, nay.
halos above mountains chaste—nay—
Could I have felt—

But one
—exhale
and they were no more.
Went into the rain perhaps,
or past moonlight
    maybe in pine trees under the sea
Could I have tracked them down—

but there’s more an eye can do
An eye can want.
light—
Between the dawn,
    between the darts
Children in smiling yards
light—
   inside coal,
Inside a broken sword—

She touches all she wants
   —she wants all.
and a ray falls on the mirror
and the mirror tosses it to the next
  and next, to the next—
Sun knits a web inside me.
beams and glitter—

Like a child’s song
or a kitten’s roar
—a war cry
Could I laugh like a spear
or mould the starlight into words
I’d tell you—

but the rays marched on
into me
   swift like kites
warm like— like iron.
nay—a mother’s hug
Nay,
beating drums
—or an armour’s clatter, nay.
Could I have known—

But there’s life in piercing screams
—And I was burning
But is it not a privilege
to watch the world wither
from the very roots of the flames?
to be their very mother—

when your wings melt
and towards the ground you
wilt
but you’re flying still—
Is it not pretty, then, the fall?
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