24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
if he never came back
there would be hundreds of sad little boys and girls
crying out for waffle cones
stamping their feet in the street for gooey caramel swirl
there would be some kind of uprise in the making
and tears overflowing for vanilla and chocolate single cups
and push pops alike-
and we would all rue the day
if the ice cream man ever went away.
Shimmy Shakes
Virginia Carraway Stark
It’s coming down
Chunks of turquoise hanging
From her necklace
hunks of raw sky
Who fell to the ground
She shimmies and she shakes
She knows how it goes down
Earthquakes
Goddess shakes
Clotted sky is crashing down
Her tasseled waist
Moves like an underground snake
She laughs at the fear
In the tumble down towns
I see that my face confuses you
I have politely said ‘no’ to all your insistent, ignorant guesses
Yet you press me further
I am not from whichever exotic land you think I am from
I will not change my answer to make you comfortable
Quizzing me in badly regurgitated bits of random foreign languages
will also not impress me.
No, I do not have a recipe for whatever dish you fell in love with
at that new “ethnic” restaurant.
Drop your handy dandy pre-programmed label maker
Talk to me like I’m a human
Have a real conversation
Not a guessing game, like I’m some sideshow attraction.
My face is my face.
It is the one I was born with.
I look in the mirror and see hints of my mother and some of my cousins.
I see stories of struggles and challenges
imprinting my skin.
They make me who I am and keep me strong.
I could have lost you
so very many times.
That long, dark corridor
claimed your strength and salience;
those vicious creatures
seeped into your aching spaces.
You did your best to
empty your soul of them –
when that didn’t work
you emptied your veins.
The righteous rattle of
black bottles merely kept you there –
fading the glow of doorframes
and taking away the handles.
Where could you go but away?
And yet here you are! In health.
Even, (dare I say?) in happiness.
I know the corridor calls you still
and the black bottles
are still sweetly on offer.
Hear their call, dearest one.
But, like sailors with
the sirens of the sea,
pass them by –
for your earthly spends
have only just begun.
I once thought your face was of the angels,
lily lips boxer’s nose Botticelli eyes,
dove into the quarries you dynamited
with the words you spoke,
wanted to comb your hair with my fingers
and play with your loose threads,
and I needed to touch you, even
belonged to you, though you
will never see my face.
And I thank God for that.
I thank God for the death of dreams
in which I plagued you, I thank God
for the softly creeping thoughts that
maybe you had something deeply
wrong with you, unfixable and
unromantic, a truly murky soul
hiding behind a Baroque mask
sporting long legs and perfect hands.
I never wanted anything but your breath.
Thank God that wish is dead.
This thing called a computer
Gives me life
As the words stream
Faster and faster
Through each dream
It is something
“I”
Could not give up
In this life
“I”
Would feel
Empty and sad
Cause
My life
Exist in this
I and U
e v o l
l o v e
e v o l
v e i l
consuming
ever burning
inflaming surging
body and soul surging
inflaming
e v o l
l o v e
u and i
ONE
Surrounded by worried, exhausted love, she comes in the world.
She’s calm and wide-eyed.
I love her realness.
She looks at me expectantly, trustingly.
I want to hold her close.
Already I feel the loss.
We are now separate, no longer dependent on us.
It isn’t long before they take her away.
Mostly happy, guilt and judgment are gnawing at the first minutes of my motherhood. Did I need to check fingers and toes, I wonder.
Is this a concern a trial for new mothership? They judge and criticize.
The few minutes take hours to endure. In my room our room , sleeping in her plastic bed.
I cuddle her and she keeps sleeping. I make a point of looking at her fingers and toes in front of the nurse. I really want the all clear on that test.
I have a physical craving for her to open her eyes and look at me again. We connect visually, telepathically, spiritually.
I accept she needs sleep, as do I.
Love too much, too deep and so very worth it.
Rise
Like a wave
Rise
Like a bird
Rise
Like the sun
Rise
Rise
Like mercury
Rise
Like yeast
Rise
Like the tide
Rise
Rise
Above it
Rise
And shine
Rise
To the occasion
Rise
Incomplete, more drafting necessary; but no time available. A shower & clean teeth helped, but already the steam is fading.
#30
appropriation
16 feet of very nude female
bronze ; on her toeballs ;
arching on her own ball of earth
sword aloft ; a colossus in V ;
grand scale commemorative art ;
celebrating war ; shouting victory ;
triumph ; black silhouettes the sky
somehow towering above
the surrounding scrapers.
locals have a colloquial ;
as Dubliners do for
“the Floozy in the Jacuzzi”
& “the prick with the stick”.
hence the symbol of German
defeat, Paris’s protection ;
becomes “the Wicked Woman” ;
& “Dirty Gertie” ;
all stemming from a time
when bus passengers asked
to disembark at the stop
next to “the Naked Lady”
when buying tickets …
#74. Oh dear.