Tags
Look at the birds. Even flying
is born
out of nothing. The first sky
is inside you, open
at either end of day.
The work of wings
was always freedom, fastening
one heart to every falling thing.
27 Monday Jun 2022
Posted chinese
inTags
Look at the birds. Even flying
is born
out of nothing. The first sky
is inside you, open
at either end of day.
The work of wings
was always freedom, fastening
one heart to every falling thing.
20 Monday Jun 2022
Tags
(For All the Beautiful Black Panthers East)
But the whole thing is a miracle – See?
We were just standing there
talking – not touching or smoking
Pot
When this cop told
Tyrone
Move along buddy – take your whores
outa here
And this tremendous growl
From out of nowhere
Pounced on him
Nobody to this very day
Can explain
How it happened
And none of the zoos or circuses
Within fifty miles
Had reported
A panther
Missing
13 Monday Jun 2022
Posted Brits
inTags
And if I speak of Paradise,
then I’m speaking of my grandmother
who told me to carry it always
on my person, concealed, so
no one else would know but me.
That way they can’t steal it, she’d say.
And if life puts you under pressure,
trace its ridges in your pocket,
smell its piney scent on your handkerchief, hum its anthem under your breath.
And if your stresses are sustained and daily, get yourself to an empty room – be it hotel, hostel or hovel – find a lamp
and empty your paradise onto a desk:
your white sands, green hills and fresh fish. Shine the lamp on it like the fresh hope
of morning, and keep staring at it till you sleep.
07 Tuesday Jun 2022
Tags
The first lily of June opens its red mouth.
All over the sand road where we walk
multiflora rose climbs trees cascading
white or pink blossoms, simple, intense
the scene drifting like colored mist.
The arrowhead is spreading its creamy
clumps of flower and the blackberries
are blooming in the thickets. Season of
joy for the bee. The green will never
again be so green, so purely and lushly
new, grass lifting its wheaty seedheads
into the wind. Rich fresh wine
of June, we stagger into you smeared
with pollen, overcome as the turtle
laying her eggs in roadside sand.