Archiv für den Monat: September 2020

little i knew not

late for bela. we were almost late.
in november drizzle 
lost and kissing,
darkness slowing our gait.

wishing, when I play
i play like booker
angry, and incredulous
words in vain,
that I knew,
knew little not.

rushing past us rows of languid lights.
vowels inhaled –
words in vain,
in the darkness,
of november rain.

from here

from here
we cannot see the harbor,
where a vendor – hoarse and reeking,
and whores – gray and foreign
gossiping of fishy things,
along the creaking gangplank.

bottles bob, barrels roll
miles of mesh lie limp and waste
windless years –
on the creaking gangplank. 

in this vast paradise – 
horizonless and edgeless –
we are bunched up 
in the middle of our dinghy.
i raise my hand above your head 
at midday.

poetry slam-dunk

Oh my sloppy joe, forlorn,
rippling with mirth, 
down my chin you ran, 
like a plantain.

Once upon a hot summer ragu
In the blue bayou.
Of mint and thyme
And bristly porcupine

speak, if you must
smile, only just…

Your skin – soft and golden
In the august sun – slow and swollen
Sesame and quints
Saucy vitamins.

But my memory 
fades as the twilight 
till just the secret melody lingers 
in the bare boughs –

and whispers to me, 
whispers of charles mingus

Rains will surely come
and wash you away
or on a ship you’ll depart 
to return never
into the haven of my heart.

But perhaps on a rainy day –
Dark and gaunt –
I may forget

To remember never that day
in september.