what do you hear
little angel?

moans from the well of hope
scattered and beneath
the blocks of stone?

(but not for you,
sweet kitten)

so run past the iniquity of man
past the dead who dwell
in the hearts of the living
past compassion silenced

run
run
run

like the fire in your heart
past soldiers marching
run as if midnight and darkness
are your lover
run past the grinding of tank wheels
past misfortune

be not a sin offering
O, my angel

make your midnight run
and tell no one
of the sadness and sorrow
of Gaza

(shed no tears for mankind)

O, lost angel of Gaza

Once in a while,
my poetry will bring
women.
They read my stuff.
They find me.
The talking is great;
very literary.
We speak of all
the little gods:
Hemingway
Pound
EE
Shakespeare
Dickinson
Buk
Ginsberg

Some­times, we ****.
That's always nice.
They soon find I'm
fallible and have
bad habits.
They prove human too.
They **** and drink my
*****, occasionally
burn dinner.
We try though, while
Joan of Arc burns at
the stake, Robin hangs
himself, and
Don Quixote fights
windmills.
I always love them.
And in the end,
we accept our
limitations and
humanity.

blue fire surrounds you
tints you sacred
extends itself in waves
to all who meet you
saves
them from their ignorance
and the a-theism of their minds
saves
them from their dis-ease of the heart
begins to bond them to themselves
and baptizes them in the Blood

this is no strange fire
it is the fire of the burning bush
the fire that leads by night
and is smoke by day
ever present in the wilderness
of exodus:
the blue fire of Love


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

I stood at the edge of the cliff
Thousands of feet in the sky.
And I asked myself,
How do I know
I cannot fly,
If I have never tried?
I pondered on the question,
And realized,
I needed to find out.
So I jumped.

All the words he never said
Were written in the stars
Look at me,
They seemed to say.
I'm still here
Let me guide you through the night

All the nights we used to spend
Outside the garage.
His favorite constellations embedded in my mind.
Orion the Hunter.
It would never get old.
I was an image of my father,
And together we could stare at the stars all night long.

So people always ask me
Why I am fascinated with the stars
Why at nights I look up at the sky and smile
And I tell them,
He used to admire the stars as I do,
But now,
He is up there.
He is guiding me throughout this life.
My dad is my favorite constellation.