“The war is over, Prince. Just— Relax.”
Cal smiles at me, but I don’t
smile back. As I repeat
My father— my king’s last
Words to me. To his
Unwanted heir.
“You must be
Perfect,
Prince.”

morning contradictories: mourning our poems, falling stars


awaken to a sunshiny Saturday,
the lazys, their coverlet of flowers,
inhibit our movements, now, as it nears
high noon, we have yet from our bed stir

August has be-come, the grass pockets
of gray and green, swaths of sunburn brown,
reveal how far along the North American
summer has poetry passed, irretrievable

reading your messages and notes from
world over, lazy licking you poems so many,
delighting, ponderous and oft heroic, as well,
weeping as too many become fallen stars

each grass blade, from earth born and returned,
the nutrients preserved in our sandy soil, intended
to nurture next summer’s poesy new birthrights,
green+browned, weep+smile, mutual contradictories

these poem best friends, passing by each other at lifecycle’s
multi-paths, metaphors for our too many morning stirrings,
most to be falling like stars that, though in motion, need not
come to rest ever, their movement attracts a one…lasting look

it nears noon, it nears this poem’s timely finishing touch,
straighten its tie, smooth its skirted pleats, a forehead
implant kiss goodbye, sent on its way to find its own weight,
no parent ere admit, it leaves, with tear-burst showers falling…

August 1
2020

noon

The first cut, indeed, the deepest, for when they cut the umbilical chord, and a life forever, alone, now forever commenced, another
sea of troubles, a cursed journey begins.

"Judge, O you gods,  how dearly Caesar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all"

julius-caesar act-iii-scene-ii

all thy
despairing words,
lifted from furrowed-lined brow

resting now
upon silver-trayed fingertips,
whereupon and thereupon,
enhanced, rotated, cropped,
18kt gold coated

re-
turned to a good turn

trans-
ported to a novice station

tele-
sorted to unforeseen places

don't ask why,
please do not cry,
it is what
needs doing

re-
possess the unpleasant,

re-
format all cares, away, away,
onto a calendar of a new life,
a world where

where sugar is dietetic,
everything that tastes good,
all taken in moderation,
lest you lose too much weight,
all cavities are filled with good

where we all speak in rhymes,
dueling wits laughing,
collapsing into each other's arms
succumbing to each other's
oral pleasuring

where apples grow on
Eden trees,
Red, for love eternal,
Green, for life perpetual

as for knowledge,
well that inherent,
what you need to know,
what you seek to know,
desired and sudden there,
for all need knowing
inherited, and well-placed,
simply awaiting your asking

even inspiration,
beckoned, binary

this, my world,
now, yours...

brown skin farmer girl (this changeling poem)

~

we are I’ve decided

alike and unlike.

I know, an epiphany.

we are both brown skinned,

the sun has wrested my skin

buried it in dark loamy,

soiled brown side by side,

now alike.


your hair is long(er)

now, mine too.

a cascading mountain ranging,

edging south from your Columbia,

to my  Columbia

over my ears, down my neck,

which like yours, dreams knightly

of being loved by endless kisses,

a prince(ss) charmant

~

we could not be

more different,

than how god us designed.

but here’s the rub,

people change,

they dream of becoming,

reinventing the original design,

and this explains

not the why, but the how,

how this poet came to write

this changeling poem.

~

and you think we could not be more different and
more alike, and you would be rightly correct.

what color is hate?

think hard, answer, not easily up-conjured,
obvious choices, careful be, exclude not, some voices,
no rush, think upon it careful, after all, hate hates variations,
it, as old original as the Garden of Eden

you desire answer, something quick, *****,
look to very nature of hate, so easy spewed,
after centuries of construction, yet, there is
nothing quick about hating, tho learnt early on

some variants of millennium length, eons short,
oh weep, at this great irony of ironies, hate is so
innate engrained, is it in the red blood, cells of the
white colored brain apparatus we all share?

unnatural impossibly genetic. don’t believe it.

hate is colorless like air, like clear water.
how else could it be so easy given, taken.
innocent innocuous is the color of hate,
easy transmitted, and never to be a vaccine

until it can be seen how we implant it within ourselves.


11:40pm
Sat Jul 11