one more for the great lakes that divide and unite her

all on that day:

1. will be a treaty writ tween me and
the cosmos,
they permit me worship them,
even to join them as another
meaningless gleaming,
if i cease to write -
having used
every word
in my kindness kitbag possess -
twice

2. my trials will be certified as ended,
for the grifting/gifting
ability of a man to
give and dream, to fool himself,
man's obligatory gift, gone
the will to believe in
anticipation

3. a full on peace,
no mere armistice pretense
till the no more next one is the norm
for to the sun, submission,
uttering
a confession
already writ

A generation goes, and a generation comes,
but the earth remains forever.

The sun rises, and the sun goes down,
and hastens to the place where it rises.

The wind blows to the south
and goes around to the north;
around and around goes the wind,
and on its circuits the wind returns.

All streams run to the sea,
but the sea is not full;
to the place where the streams flow,
there they flow again.

All things are full of weariness;
a man cannot utter it;
the eye is not satisfied with seeing,
nor the ear filled with hearing.

What has been is what will be,
and what has been done is what will be done,
and there is nothing new under the sun.

Is there a thing of which it is said,
“See, this is new”?
It has been already
in the ages before us.

There is no remembrance of former things,
nor will there be any remembrance
of later things yet to be among those who come after.*

Ecclesiastes  1:4-11

~

had i not known wrong
i had been the lesser man
had i not sung winter’s song
i had known no warmth to gain
had i never tasted blood
i failed to see fragility
and had i not these understood
life’s tenderness was lost to me.

~

*post script.

for Pradip who shared the only muse these words were wanting on this special holy-day. please read SJR's gorgeous post, but then see Pradip’s after-words here: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2246391/gratitude/

Epiphany: January 6th https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epiphany_(holiday)

wife beaters and boxer briefs


for wife beaters and boxer briefs
we share an affection affectation in common,
for these understated, statement accoutrements

indeed I’ve caught her bare chest
hiding out beneath, via my side view mirror, revealing,
what hints lie beneath
my armless hair-shirt more than once

she loves the freedom of the stolen land grant
she's  claims only to have borrowed
her deed and title, she says was
god given

she seems to enjoy as well the
impertinent attentions of this suckling pig,
driven by the hints of her pertinent robusts,
which have proven poorly resistant to the woodpeckers, ahem,
lips

but my boxer shorts she ignores,
as the differential in waste size,
about a Subway foot-long

so no wonder why
when she asks if I own any suspenders?

*who me?
Yes, you, Mr. Sinner?

she just shakes her head

she meets me on the street-corner, me from work, she from dance,
in the grayling dusk of a thank god it’s a freedom Friday night,
I greet her with words semi-adventurous -

“come with me, few errands to run, keep me in good company”

to the candy store we go for to purchase my weekend eve
lottery tickets and blow-pop lollipops, just in case some
kids appear, a surprise omen as they come
trick-or-treating just before Thanksgiving


the Bangladeshi candyman calls out a long prayer
in his native Bangla

she asks “what’s that he’s saying?”

“Oh, just wishing us a pleasant Sabbath and
may his gods smile upon our good lottery fortune”

she just shakes her head, from side to side

emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”

she asks, “who is that?”

“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’

she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where you buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”

but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side

I show her my secret entrance to our apartment house,
the fast route to collect our mail, dry cleaning in one fell swoop
a secret door, secret elevator taking us directly to our apartment

a secret elevator which is under the direction of
Bimal from Nepal,
who I greet in Nepalese, (my tutor)
I, asking after Brian and Bryce, his 100% American boys

now she says nothing, but before our door, as I go key digging,
she just shakes her head, from side to side

later she says:

“let’s order in, apprise me of  your expertise,
some exotic fare from Manhattans First Avenue,
known for its aphrodisiacal powers
afterwards,
you must tell me each dishes name,
in its tongue’s nativity,
but much, much later,”

and as she speaks, grinning,
she sticks out her tongue,
while she just shakes her head,
but this time,

up
and
down