"appian" poems
Every cell in my body
trembles with anticipation
as the curandero croons
ayy ooo wah hee….
….time to come and see me…
as my stomach settles from the purge
of the exlixir of the vine of the soul
I have dared myself to drink
as my limbs begin to vibrate
as I am seized by the hair
lifted right up off the ground
in the arms of great angels
who look like alien jaguar dancers
with huge luminescent eyes
and funny hats
who live in the emerald jungle
where the concoction I took
grows entwined
with my desperate hope
that this isn’t a scam
that there really is another world
or maybe galaxies too
but then I realize
I’m so far away from home
I know I’ll never get back
because I see him up ahead
it’s God with his hair gloriously ablaze
sitting on a grand throne
at the end of a great stone road
like the Roman’s Appian Way
suspended in pulsing interstellar space
and there is a line of people
stretching for light years
all hoping for a sustainable miracle
all holding tickets to see him
and each one walks up to him
heads bowed
and he caresses their hair
and he says I love you
but really, I just work here.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
The ancient way across this world lies like sunset over black pearls,
The treetops are marble-made that the riffler of wind deforms,
To know all mother tongues from the quarry of rough stones,
To speak everything at once, Bride of Unbecoming,
The moldering walls of lips, the kiss of vacant streets
And the quiet, wet solitude bespoken by back roads,
The whispered origami of the Forum, paper gods in folds,
Smothered in the false pillows of their own repose,
The wolf’s beard dipped in the fresh pant of dewfall,
While lovers have placed on the stones of the Appian Way
Their perfect hearts like votive candles, cupping the flames,
Looking down the swift arrow of loneliness, Sagittarius its same
Heaven-glow and besprinkled guidepost of a starlit Sacred Way.
Mother of Rome, your powdered face has been made ashen by those
Unreturned home, your far-off travels lead only to the graves of sons.
The ancient way across this world lies like sunset over black pearls.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 11:32 AM UTC
Clodius’ ashes rose above
The Curia in flames.
His supporters filled the streets
crying out his name.
In a city ruled by violence,
One wracked by rival mobs,
The rule of law grew as silent
as the altars of her gods.
Pompey the great, sole consul,
His ally, Milo, would betray...
The eloquent grew fearful
of themselves becoming prey.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
so many bodies
in Spartacus' wake,
his body never found
the historians say,
six thousand men
crucified a horde of others
dead, all along the banks
of the river Sale,
in the High Sele Valley,
Nowhere was he found.
His life a myth now.
His purpose also, a question mark,
what his intent was ,
whether he tried to free enslaved people,
or escape with his hoard into Gaul. His mission
and mistakes paint a vision..
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
Breakfast crunching cornflakes,
The sound of Roman legions
Marching down Appian Way.
Just sounds, word sounds,
The Dictionary of all sounds.
An empty polystyrene cup,
And loose change offered,
For many timed re-mortgaged soul.
Elbows on the altar,
Of a dried coffee ringed universe.
Helpless in supplication,
Bargaining with the Devil,
For three immortal lines,
Or three immortal words,
Or even two?
And No.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC