There are no people around,
only animals, popcorn on side-
walks, empty paper cups,
coke stains. The animals

are in their cages, where
they should be, not out and
about on the town. Clowns
are in the circus, the animals
in their place, and I am

alone at the Bronx Zoo,
kicking peanut shells, waiting for
Washington Irving to show up.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

There are reasons why
some men are shy
and women too,
when wearing silk,
lie on their beds
alone and cry.
No mother's milk
to satisfy
the cruel thirst
for love and touch.
The rule first
is to beware,
when wearing silk,
of men who stare
or fingers touch;
this much we know.

I see ibicies on alpine slopes,
large curved horns coming almost
full circle. I descry mountain
hawks on the wing that descry
more than I. Bears I do not
see, for they are lost in their
own sleep, not on slopes, but
in slumber;  the number of deer
is in actuality many, but I
have not earned the right to
discern more than few.
Vision is a funny thing:  we
tend to infer from the many
we can see reality, but this
is illusory. Our sight we feel
can be enhanced by glasses
microscopic or telescopic,
but sight is not insight;  seeing
is not knowing. The intellect
sees that all are different,
wisdom that all are one. The
ibex knows the mountain is
deeper than it is high.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

Speak in tears when you lie
next to me and your heart is
troubled so. Let sorrow pour
from your eyes and wet the
sheets. Meet your heart and
greet it openly, though it be
filled with sadness. Let your
body shake against mine, as
my love will absorb its blows;
I know what it is to hurt.
Let empathy soak up your
sorrow. Let your catharsis
become chrysanthemums.

Poetry is like the ocean wind:
It blows only for those sails
that are open.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

If I could mount a mountain
and ride it to the sea,
I'd gather up the waters
to make a bath for thee.
I'd rinse your hair with violets,
your breast and thighs with myrrh,
and as you rose I'd cover you
with strands purple, silver, gold.
If I could garner galaxies,
I'd make for your a ring
and ring it round your finger
for eternity. I'd call on all
the continents to make for you
a bed, a majesty of meadows,
white billows for your head.
And underneath a tapestry God
wove on Heaven's loom, with
love and lust I'd plant my seed
in your soft and sacred womb.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

What scares you?
That I might breathe the air,
gaze at a flower,
lie on the grass?

What frightens you?
That I might speak to a child,
hug an old man,
admire a young woman?

Why are you so full of fear?
That I might consider kindness,
think of goodness,
remember love?

Copyright Tod Howard Hawks