"sunstruck" poems
I have enough treasures from the past
to last me longer than I need, or want.
You know as well as I . . . malevolent memory
won't let go of half of them:
a modest church, with its gold cupola
slightly askew; a harsh chorus
of crows; the whistle of a train;
a birch tree haggard in a field
as if it had just been sprung from jail;
a secret midnight conclave
of monumental Bible-oaks;
and a tiny rowboat that comes drifting out
of somebody's dreams, slowly foundering.
Winter has already loitered here,
lightly powdering these fields,
casting an impenetrable haze
that fills the world as far as the horizon.
I used to think that after we are gone
there's nothing, simply nothing at all.
Then who's that wandering by the porch
again and calling us by name?
Whose face is pressed against the frosted pane?
What hand out there is waving like a branch?
By way of reply, in that cobwebbed corner
a sunstruck tatter dances in the mirror.
Leningrad, 1960
3.5k
the world is a wild and weary place,
fully sunk in spiral ******
fully strummed in skin water waves.
bound by death from the very first verse:
first love.
first this.
go forth my machines, be fruitful and jettison.
color says hang at the edge of our lips.
smell the books.
remind us; books.
& before the big blue vast takes it all, that
sunstruck lomographia light,
transposed no-makeup california girl, she
walks before me along the boulders of the wharf.
real summer breathing.
our bodies, piled
and starbleached ripe. [like heap of buffalo skulls]
maybe then a futuristic dinner, where everyone gathers in floating space pods
singing hymns beneath,
above,
between
the lights and music.
reality is: blacktop shards against my knees,
something burning as it trickles to my chin, man of me
living the city glisten, city green
& pink.
city midnight and barely breathing.
destroyers, we are.
and what? what am i, father? man of industry?
man of workwelded science? secure as the armadillo,
armadillo picket fence.
am i of halfbreed phosphorus?
americana?
built on love and hate and television.
nat geo channel: [a gecko licks dew from its eyes
on the coastal sand dunes of namibia]
money. women. go west young man.
be a hand tightening ribs.
be a quaking echo of mammalian design.
a paradigm of seed my fire.
quest for fire.
for uncut diamond; like foggy strawberry rock in the africa-boy's fingers.
or cut steel; phallus of toyish death between a brazil-boy’s fingers.
pulled teeth; bits of wet fruit in the young afghani’s hand.
& icecream trolley; pedestal etched iron; denim and *** and
microwaves ::::::
white man: what I got ? what I got ?
manifest destiny: gold bricks and beer.
blood soaked socks.
cyprus burnt umbers.
tribes decomposing at the bottoms of styrofoam cups.
like coin-op wormies.
& eighteen inch circumference blades make round rolling high pitched songs deep in the skin of old mother earth.
old baby cakes.
old life in slow motion, all motion, all
of particle cannon treatise.
40 ounce bounce.
watery us
below.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
Once in the wind of morning
I ranged the thymy wold;
The world-wide air was azure
And all the brooks ran gold.
There through the dews beside me
Behold a youth that trod,
With feathered cap on forehead,
And poised a golden rod.
With mien to match the morning
And gay delightful guise
And friendly brows and laughter
He looked me in the eyes.
Oh whence, I asked, and whither?
He smiled and would not say,
And looked at me and beckoned
And laughed and led the way.
And with kind looks and laughter
And nought to say beside
We two went on together,
I and my happy guide.
Across the glittering pastures
And empty upland still
And solitude of shepherds
High in the folded hill,
By hanging woods and hamlets
That gaze through orchards down
On many a windmill turning
And far-discovered town,
With gay regards of promise
And sure unslackened stride
And smiles and nothing spoken
Led on my merry guide.
By blowing realms of woodland
With sunstruck vanes afield
And cloud-led shadows sailing
About the windy weald,
By valley-guarded granges
And silver waters wide,
Content at heart I followed
With my delightful guide.
And like the cloudy shadows
Across the country blown
We two fare on for ever,
But not we two alone.
With the great gale we journey
That breathes from gardens thinned,
Borne in the drift of blossoms
Whose petals throng the wind;
Buoyed on the heaven-heard whisper
Of dancing leaflets whirled
>From all the woods that autumn
Bereaves in all the world.
And midst the fluttering legion
Of all that ever died
I follow, and before us
Goes the delightful guide,
With lips that brim with laughter
But never once respond,
And feet that fly on feathers,
And serpent-circled wand.
1.6k
we eat acid &
strawberries &
butter in the cemetery, &
feed foxes lizards face first.
the candy-colored smoke don’t smoke;
sunstruck lomograph light.
her rollerskates are last to come off;
i go south on her body.
as bottlerockets,
we muse on stars & dark.
fire we carry.
go west young man: sell microwaves.
sell particles, pastes, & patina of ameri-cult & ooze.
seek effervescence.
want nothing but to get back to her poetry;
her warmth;
yet never do.
or do.
by manifest destiny: gold bricks & beer.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
10/04.
I.
tonight
she finds herself
left behind, choking
on ashes.
the light on the shelf
where her picture used to be
is burning out.
and names left,
here, to fade away.
long ago, the river
found its way to
this house's front door.
one year ago,
a spirit departed
not forgotten.
in swollen memory,
it's girls singing night
thru the halls &echoes;
behind a white door.
(another voice has found its
way into the resonance.
the broken harmonies
provide reassurance
to the stories inside
these walls.)
II.
girl stands in halflit doorway,
singing songs of invention and disbelief--
candles on dim porches,
tired cars,
tired slaves.
inside -- the walls breathe
like accordions
alive with her story.
glory fades into whispers
into silence, into dust.
her heart radio (racing)
playing the same track
repeatedly.
voices underwater,
steady (harnessed) scent
of black roses.
don't tempt me, the
silence.
o sunstruck night, beaten.
"it's here, follow."
do you follow?
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 7:11 AM UTC
rddpc your word of honor lives on
our very heart beat drum is us,
God let his heart beat forever
reign peaceful my lover divine .
~~~
He left me as I guarded silence
in shock in my prime later again.
I remained decades sunstruck
in love with this King my twin
no matter what I just do.
~~~
His shamanic drum and ink is my heart beat raising and pausing as
I burn bittersweet at the sound
of his drum beating getting closer
thus my beloved materializes
in my arms again and again
whispering "baby baby" in my ear
for hours in the same hot Atlas.
worshipping him.
~~~
{ JC felt like Rhett B in GWTHW
with Scarlet O running
to women mad for his all
instead of being true to himself and stay with me whom he truly loved
to fall in love after asking a few key questions to see me eye to eye.😂}
✓\✓\✓\__________________________
°°°
His foot steps ink and all I hear
as his familiar rose scent
tickles his chin and I see them there;
then slowly my candle is blown off.
my heart stops ✓}✓\_________
I am never alone our union warps
etched in time and space as a painting safe inside a fortress of loves sacred parameters and divine brain art.
°°°
His whispering drum drumming
remained embedded deep in my soul.
The love of my life my heart beating
he guards
His word of honor he gave to be so
and so it is
thanks Heaven for his loving ways .
~~~~
√/✓\✓\/√√ √\√\√\√\√√ \√\√\√\.
Karijinbba.
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 11:51 PM UTC
i will pick you a bunch of sunflowers;
each one is icarus,
reborn from falling,
from trying to fly too close to the sun,
each one,
still facing its direction;
maybe it's a sunstruck shade of love, darling.
or maybe it's just a bad case of morning lunacy —
see, each one still has wilted,
each one still has withered,
each one is still a tale
of icarus falling to the earth.
and darling, maybe flying and falling for you
are still habits i'm yet to break.
— to the boy made of sunbeams
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 7:03 AM UTC
Sun dazzling in the noon sky,birdless,
the grass blades fade.
A gloom
In a warm pond,
stands A lone sunstruck lily.
Sun circling the hills and meadows.
i lean back, stare into empty space.
Pain "crystalline",Sweet thoughts-...
entering every blood cell
Within the depths..
there is a value of the things
I know..i love,
so well.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 7:18 AM UTC
the sun caught in my eyes
and
for a minute i was holding you -
holding your hand,
trembling inside
but still as stone outwardly;
safe,
rooted,
my heart gathered love
like eager hummingbirds
collect sap.
i wanted to tell you
then
how every time you leave
another piece of me goes
with you.
because the truth is
i am and
i’m not
jealous.
really,
it’s envy -
envy
of those who
get to see your smile
every morning
while i dream of a day
when it’s the smile
i wake up to.
in my mind
i’ve already said
those three words but
now
i hold them close
to the heart that beats
for the love of you
the heart you carry
next to yours.
Dec 3, 2019
Dec 3, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC