Elegy (1996)

Dark Matter

Originally written in 1996.

These days they build
new doors out of balsa,
nearly out of butter, hollowcored, empty;
we are losing the thrill of opening doors.

No longer do we wish or try to push hard.
The clunk of brass latches falling into place is fading from memory.
We are forgetting the comfort that bubbled within us
once resistance was overcome.

We have disembodied ourselves.
Already unable to remain entranced
with the sounds of our lovers for long,
the day may be coming when each of us

will fail to recognize a brother, a sister;
soon, we may no longer know
anything our senses tell us.
The question rings out:

how can we sleep knowing
in the soles of our feet,
in the ledges of our ears,
that we are feeling less each day?

How can we sleep knowing
that all what of we move through daily
without giving it  attention
is…

View original post 70 more words

Advertisements

The Peonies

Thank you again Tony. Your work never fails to inspire me. 

Dark Matter

Originally written in 1999.

In the year I turned thirty nine
the peonies did not die
quite the same way
as the peonies always had before 

In the year I was thirty-eight
the fragile man I was then
looked at the peonies
in the backyard

The progress of the year 
seemed so fast 
I thought about how quickly
those pink and white heads

would droop and drop their petals
fade and decay
I feared that if the year of thirty-eight 
continued this pace into

my years of forty forty-one forty-two and beyond
every thing I had learned
by putting myself together 
would come undone

But then in the year
I was thirty nine
I learned that in remembering
the scent of peony

the heat of their pink
the regal ice of their white
in all these memories
there was enough of youth to make

my mortality irrelevant
I learned that thirty nine was an opening and not
an end…

View original post 163 more words

I See With My Heart

Part-Time Poet

I see a saucer of milk
skimming the treetops,
I see over a dozen twin droplets
shaken from a pair of whiskers
and my heart
stops.

I see the icicle stars
diamanté paw prints
padding across the whole sky,
I see a half-smile
soon to be a grin
and I swear I see the moon slumping
heaving a contented sigh.

I see with my heart
as well as my eyes,
maybe that’s why
tonight of all nights
the earth seems so very
alive,

if only my tongue were long enough
to drink every last sight up,
and if only I were tall enough
to reach out and give the world
a hug.

View original post

Three poems by Gaia Holmes — And Other Poems

Feckless Sometimes it makes him angry, this dying, and I keep doing things wrong, forget to soften the stars with almond milk before I bring them to his bedside on a saucer, buy the wrong kind of green tea, the wrong kind of holy water from the village shop. He says there are […]

via Three poems by Gaia Holmes — And Other Poems

Ville Folle / Crazytown

“America will not be destroyed by undocumented workers, same-sex marriage, Muslims, atheists or abortion but rather by unreasonable fears, uncontrolled hatred, divisive politics, unethical politicians, deliberate misinformation and a gullible population.” – Laura C. Keeling

“True Americanism is opposed utterly to any political divisions resting on race and religion.” – Henry Cabot Lodge

“A politician divides mankind into two classes: tools and enemies.”
– Friedrich Nietzsche

 

Ville folle / Crazytown

 

How does one

Teach responsibility

To a child

When those sworn officials

Selected, to serve and protect

When those entrusted

To govern the land

Accept no responsibility

pointing at others, for their crimes

For their actions

For their words

Inciting death, destruction

Divisive tactics, misogyny – Nth degree 

Machiavellian inspired

Their only defense is offense

Harm to the masses

On their backs, spill their blood

Ripping families apart,

Infants torn from the breast

Caging children, more than

That pound of flesh

Innocence is stolen

Predatory ICE – presidential mandate

For a land that claims to be free

Free from responsibility

To women, men

To all the most vulnerable,

The air we breathe, the water we drink,

Food you try to consume,

Our oceans thick with toxic, plastic carcasses

Yes, there is one, condemns us to perish

With maniacal grin and predatory leer

The oath of one without conscience

As meaningless as those who

Stand with him, without conscience

Serving only themselves

Spewing propaganda from

Forked tongues, turning

Neighbor from neighbor

Man from woman

Brother from brother

Race from race

Ally bridges burning

Fractured States of Hate

Nothing here united

While the masses

Shock and awe mode

Standby waiting for change

Helplessness learned

Waiting for a hero, if you want one,

You must be one

Bisous,

Léa

After The Orgy Of His Ending — Dark Matter

he was laid out like a meal on a picnic table. How swiftly he was torn and butchered! If you lay a feast before some folks they settle right in and devour it. I’m certain he was spoiled, spoiled early, spoiled rotten; I never could have thought to drag a tooth over him. Seeing him picked […]

via After The Orgy Of His Ending — Dark Matter

August 16

R.E.S.P.E.C.T. – Au revoir chère diva!

Dark Matter

1.
Too often now I stare at a screen
and try to recall what it was like
when I could easily change blank
into not blank.

Sometimes I’d make
a good thing, more often I would not. 
However it ended, at least there was 
a result. Back then emptiness

didn’t stare at me like an adversary
the way it does now. The challenge now
is to survive, more or less, 
while fighting the whiteness of that void.

2.
Yesterday, Aretha Franklin passed.
Today daylight is still sagging
in the absence
of her possibility. 

Eighty years ago to the day
Robert Johnson passed. The moon
still hasn’t recovered all of the melody
it loaned him.  

Somewhere in between them
Elvis Presley died — same day,
different song; I know people miss him
but what song we lost that day, I can’t imagine.

3.
I’m not ready yet.  If I go tomorrow
the only song…

View original post 80 more words