"metes" poems
C
is confused, so a little complex
I mean, one moment it’s top of the range
glowing
in the hierarchy of vitamins
but next it’s a little abashed and low
in a student’s report card –
you know, C is not as good as an A
And so can you blame C for its mood swings?
Its agony continues:
one instant C is Calm, in another it’s a Curse
And you know it also feels a little wanting
a little under-stretched, not fulfilled
like not being able to complete
all the stretching exercises
its fitness trainer metes out
“O, if only I could be a little more yogic,”
C intones
“I’d be as composed as an O” -
but O no, that’s not to be
And don’t you start
on the indignant possibilities
of the letter C, for C has always aspired
you see
to be genteel, cultured and debonair
and curls with disgust if the uncouth
should use the letter
to refer to any body parts,
be it that of male or of female
So, dear mortals, C should be left in celestial spheres
And so, in conclusion,
one Commandment I give unto you:
*Never drag C to ****** shallows*
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Blanco
Que de noche te metes como sabana en mi cama,
Draping between my legs,
Collapsing on my skin,
Falling over my soul as guilt:
Colonial guilt.
Tus ojos azules como los del jesucristo de mi abuela,
La vieja escuela,
La escuela antigua,
Me pierdo inocente en tu manigua,
Y me desvelas.
(Que carajo diria mi abuela?)
You held on as one holds on to hope,
Como los clavos del cristo de los blancos,
Callado y con cuidado,
With the overwhelming silence of a temple:
Worship, worship, worship!
Tu sueno colonial desamparado
Sleeping next to me
Y entre mis brazos
Igual como la yerba en los pantanos.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
There are worlds within worlds in this world of ours
as there are seconds in minutes and minutes in hours.
Take for example the world of the artists and their creations
how they represent aspects of nature and physical situations.
Or the world of writers whether it be that of drama, prose or poetry
how they express themselves in words of ever increasing ambiguity.
Then there’s the world of music and of a musician’s composition
in which are combined sounds of harmonic and varied precision.
And we have the world of nature and the life of all living things
of their instinct for survival and of what man’s place in it brings.
We must therefore consider the world of science and its discoveries
where in that pursuit for knowledge our future gives no guarantees.
There’s also a world of despair and that of faith and hope
how in the midst of pain or difficulties we’re able to cope.
We must also mention the world of love and its opposite hate
where we care for each other or go about in a destructive state.
There are worlds within worlds in this world of ours here
and in every one of them we try to achieve something dear.
There’s a world within each one’s mind or body and that of the heart
through which we experience this life of ours before we have to depart.
And so there’s the world of the beyond of which we know very little
where our soul is said to go being for a while its place of transmittal.
Which brings us to the world of religion and in what people believe
whether they are certain of their notions or what they may perceive.
There’s the world of memories that bears for many joy and sorrow
in which we remember our past and carry it with us into tomorrow.
We must mention the world of crime which is against the social good
and the laws of the state that it competes with mocking where it would.
And next is the world of justice which metes out punishment or reward
for things that people do in respect of ethics; what is or isn’t in accord.
There’s a world of communication and the various devices it uses to inform
of the complex and sophisticated means created by which it has to perform.
Then there’s the world of medicine or the prevention, treatment and cure of disease
where the doctor in his practice tries in various ways the patient to help or appease.
Yes, there are virtual worlds within worlds in this world of ours almost without end
and so therefore it’s with each other against time and space they all have to contend.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 1:29 AM UTC
Desnuda eres tan simple como una de tus manos,
lisa, terrestre, mínima, redonda, transparente,
tienes líneas de luna, caminos de manzana,
desnuda eres delgada como el trigo desnudo.
Desnuda eres azul como la noche en Cuba,
tienes enredaderas y estrellas en el pelo,
desnuda eres enorme y amarilla
como el verano en una iglesia de oro.
Desnuda eres pequeña como una de tus uñas,
curva, sutil, rosada hasta que nace el día
y te metes en el subterráneo del mundo
como en un largo túnel de trajes y trabajos:
tu claridad se apaga, se viste, se deshoja
y otra vez vuelve a ser una mano desnuda.
905
rawed flesh flies
to filthy beat of
the leather changer
gag metes justice
jean cotton knaw
crack of debater
mage owed silver
shillings for fake
dab at blood on
dent of his chin
Bob tours patois
scrawls with a finger
awed
by the give in her
broken skin
stud kept for she
his
promise the bearer note
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
~
of her are
countless stories told,
ancient face angelic;
some think she a
seductive mistress,
while some see none,
but lunar cold.
but others find
her gaze majestic;
never sleeping,
memories keeping,
always watching,
ever seeking... as the
world below unfolds.
eyes that
never turn aside,
her tidal draw,
that ne’er subsides;
and flows within,
her mother's pride;
for even when
we see her not,
unbroken gaze,
men's deeds engraves;
of ev'ry tribe,
the fateful scribe;
she the keeper
of this race!
~
post script.
*since childhood i have found the moon to be entrancing... both beautiful and mysterious. surely i am not alone in conjuring mystical theories and fantasied metaphors for our lovely lady above!*
as the ever watchful eye in the heavens above, do you, like me, wonder if just maybe it is she who metes out justice, who deals man's swift reward? and what if, just maybe, those who to our eye, seem to escape the consequence of their actions, who seem to skate along unscathed... what if their consequences are simply too great to unveil in this realm, and instead, she, the fateful, faithful scribe has rendered and reserved for them in the next, their recompense and just reward? i shudder to think of it!
~
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
Me olvidé que me amaste
después de que te fuiste.
Una maleta cogiste
y sin pensar me desarmaste.
Primero mi boca agarraste
y la metiste en la maleta,
y como ella no te respeta
te dijo “perra sin corazón
que me metes a un cajón
donde guardas los condones
que te llenan de placeres
de un hombre que no te quiere;
y a mí que me aguanto esto
y que a donde vas te sigo
me quieres enterrar vivo
sin siquiera haberme muerto.”
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
Much like Icarus, off they go;
until condensation metes them
reality's condescension:
Whose goals and objectives
are minute in life's greater scheme;
wings fashioned from floss harps-
Yet they soar each firmament;
nary a doubt would sway resolve;
no tempest or tumult could dissuade.
If you chance upon a cloudless day
catch their echo of jubilant cries
and contemplate your turn to fly.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
Of Sartre and Camus
and the rest of the host
(too many besides)
to them should we toast?
I am a Zen-man
struggle in reason
I'll not-- what life metes
humbly I accept---it's prison
to live in the mind
questioning is dumb
ten thousand doubts
emerge---what a dreadful outcome!
all that's in life is
pure such-ness
call a rose by ten other names
it will still but be its intrinsic loveliness
the river is the river
the hill is the hill
the hour is the hour
that which is still is still
of the universe I am part
without me it's not integral or whole
only in this blend will my heart
find its peace--we are the substance of the same pole
drawn from the field of void's mystery
in the eons of time-- beyond any intelligent telling
self is delusion, we are one of the Many
which is the meaning beyond all meaning
that which is truth
has no name to it attached
the Tao is the way
to nothing attached
of Sartre and Camus, also all those in the Restless Band
the clamour for understanding, the angst and the anguish
in the existential absurdity--from that I walk far away
in Zen's teachings I abide which all doubts extinguish.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
*Much like Icarus, off they go;
until condensation metes them
reality's condescension:
Whose goals and objectives
are minute in life's greater scheme;
wings fashioned from floss harps-
Yet they soar each firmament;
nary a doubt would sway resolve;
no tempest or tumult could dissuade.
If you chance upon a cloudless day
catch their echo of jubilant cries
and contemplate your turn to fly.*
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC
*Much like Icarus, off they go;
until condensation metes them
reality's condescension:
Whose goals and objectives
are minute in life's greater scheme;
wings fashioned from floss harps-
Yet they soar each firmament;
nary a doubt would sway resolve;
no tempest or tumult could dissuade.
If you chance upon a cloudless day
catch their echo of jubilant cries
and contemplate your turn to fly.*
●○
°
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC
Much like Icarus, off they go;
until condensation metes them
reality's condescension.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC