Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

The amber tongue contains the carcass of
An ant. Our thoughts crucified with
Ruby nails hammered flush against the
Expatriate utterances of stolen voices
Hemming, hawing, planning, damning
Rivers too big to succumb to the pharmacy
Somewhere there's a way back, sure
But where was that place? It was health
Two divided worlds we walked, both of us
Who never knew it well, wrote our
Last will with hindsight. The future will
Not rest. We didn't do a very good job
Learning the new each other. Like Heron
And Crane: 'And to this very day they
Go to each other to propose but never get
Married.' Pour wine over brimming
Lip of glass, splotch white table-cloth
Pressed with blues, argue out blame
Say goodnight in tears
...

To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,
Scented and warm against my beating breast;

To whisper soft and quivering your name,
And drink the passion burning in your frame;

To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,
And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak

Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,

...

The poor can also rise and shine,
With dreams and hopes that intertwine.
But this world, often claims the weak,
The rich build walls—so cold, so bleak.

The poor hold hands, but drag each other down,
Reflecting struggles in a world that wears a frown.
Cursing overlaps with a heavy hate,
Lost is the love, as we navigate.


...

Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
I broomed snow off the car
and drove to the Kearsarge Mini-Mart
before Amy opened
to yank my Globe out of the bundle.
Back, I set my cup of coffee
beside Jane, still half-asleep,
murmuring stuporous
thanks in the aquamarine morning.
Then I sat in my blue chair
with blueberry bagels and strong
black coffee reading news,
the obits, the comics, and the sports.
Carrying my cup twenty feet,
I sat myself at the desk
for this day's lifelong
engagement with the one task and desire.
...

it lay in my palm soft and trembled
as a new bird and i thought about
authority and how it always insisted
on itself, how it was master
of the man, how it measured him, never
was ignored or denied, and how it promised
there would be sweetness if it was obeyed
just like the saints do, like the angels
and i opened the window and held out my
uncupped hand; i swear to god

...

Taste my sword - a lightning bolt,
To divinity's way, a blessing jolt.
Is it the deed?
That my companions dreamed.
I call, 'Oh Ashtar' to bring my cup,
To pour the tea with no biscuit brought up.
And I cut off the chest of that scoundrel,
Placing his heart beside my table's candle.
With every sip, I take a bite,
Relieving my dead soldier's heart with light.
...

What is the central passion
of a life?
To please mummy & daddy?
To find a home for their furniture?
To found a family of one's own,
possibly a dynasty?
To fill the world with more books
that have no readers
or books that have too many
& kill
too many trees?

What is the passion
that drives us
as the wind drives
a winged seed?
To reproduce ourselves,
then die?
To meet God once
if only in a dream?
To reach enlightenment
through pain
or pleasure?

Or perhaps just
to question
as I am doing now,
& to teach by questioning. . .

Yes- this is both passion

...

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set -
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.

...

In the quiet depths of night,
Your laughter dances like stars,
Whispers echo, warmth ignites,
Time bends softly in our grasp.

Eyes entwined, a sacred flame,
In every heartbeat, I am home,
Together, bound by fate's sweet chain,
Love, my life, in you I roam.
...