Except these people haven't any dominion over you that
You don't hand to them yourself,
In your misguided attempts at self-parenting
A seed cannot water itself,
And requires the gentle warming touch of the sun
And yet we try to raise ourselves in the shadows
Of our own reprisals
We are children with no mothers
Rushing through a well-lit world with our eyes closed
"Open
Open
Open your eyes!"
And the voice of our collective heart remains pleading
Just stop running for a moment,
Hold your hands out to the void
And dare yourself to feel
I know it's silly
but I used to play a game
in my head
trying to find a reason
to believe you might change
your mind
If that car turns left, you still love me
If it's not past midnight, you still love me
If that girl sits in that chair, you still love me
If it's sunny tomorrow, you still love me
and I don't think I ever really believed
that stupid game would mean anything
but now I know for sure it didn't
because that car turned left
it was not yet midnight
that girl sat in that chair
I'm tired of being the moon -
perpetually dark,
cratered,
cursedly stuck.
I want to be light -
I want to be whole.
This time around,
I want to be the sun.
The flower is like the sun, brightening up my day.
The weed is like the dark, not knowing where you are.
The flower is like the stars, sparkling bright
The weeds are like the moon, with only one good side.
The flower as beautiful as a diamond
The weeds as big as a crystal rock.
The flower petals are like a fragile child
The weed's are like your father's unshavened face.
The flower is like a numph with gleaming hair
It flows along with the wind here, there and everywhere.
The flower bows like the eighth wonder in ones who seek upon it.
The weed grows through the concrete path unable to touch the sky. It's pushed and shoved and somehow it survives.
My eyes feast upon the flower
But heart goes to the weed.
the ocean
was more
than a dream,
it was a place
she needed to visit
to find herself.
and when she returned
to the city,
you could see the sun
in her eyes, the wind
in her hair, and taste
of the infinite salt
on her lips.
you ask me how they keep walking
the Peace walkers
walking all the way from San Francisco eta
to Moscow
their message is too beautiful for me to encompass
in a poem
GOOD NEWS!
But as a metaphor let me point
to that long-legged woman over there
she's pregnant in shorts and sneakers
her bunched veins
like blue hyacinth petals or berry scratches
& she wears a nice cool peppermint striped blouse
well, now she's walking heavily from one side of
this small playground to the other
in the sun
where the turns of your
rocks despoil the sea
weary with that mating
you lie dulled by
separation with
your face lined tentative
not from age but squinting
at the sun
mountain your glance is
nondescript for I cannot
spell your silence
nor will I match my
gestures dumb to yours
when motion is
patient and I must
be in my seeking
O what a woman
what a beautiful woman!
a beautiful woman:
with eyes of bayou sea bathing
serene in green April dreaming.
O what a woman!
what a beautiful woman:
Beauty her knee-flurried motion
walking with pure wizard lightfeet.
See in her hair the loud sunlight!
See on her cheeks the proud lovelight!
And on her lips the pink kiss.
She is April-May girllike sunflower,
She is pearl of the sunlightning face,
with voice of lullaby midnight
softly shifting to caressing consent.
the shadows around the corner before
the cars there's the back windows too slow
moment
away from
the setting sun
project tall bug-
gye flickering past
trees
changed here
through the seasons
over the road
branched out
If I enticed you
it was
to see the sun
Set. Yes, as
you say
you had seen
It set before
walking back
I lifted your
Skirts and whacked
you
across the butt
A likely enough
gesture
but I had not
Guessed you had
its like music.
its i like music.
the answer bouncing like a long stemmed
dandelion in april
the most brilliant color in the rainbow,
a bunch of
fantastic
lite beams, smiles, clear ribbons of rain
coloring the sky
the bridge of the sun, the long
womans belly, the horizon.
bubbling up like a stream of sap
thru the trunk
touching the branches, bright
colored bubble surfaces
of sap, spring of sap bubbles
piece of matting tossed out
catches the sun-
Edo?