Wednesday, June 17, 2015
TOLSTOY AND A TREE
Tolstoy, brim hat, austere of autograph
platinum, stern, the lengthy cheek shaded,
his eyes underneath eye level shadow
leans on a tree that appears a finger
a vein wraps the trunk, casts off a sparkle,
while the master looks into the camera
wearing his gown and searching of gesture,
and seems to weigh or balances himself
a man and a monument both alive
dark clouds crowd the background like a curtain
as they close in around him he looks through
his image and directly for our view
from one side of himself to our own one
the embrace of his love with our unionSaturday, June 13, 2015
MOUNTAIN*LION
I Stroke the Black Keys with White Letters, Tap
The Muscles behind the Eyes of a Cat.
She Was Small and Lean and Leapt across the Tap
Of the Rain as its Crystals Drew Light Cat.
She was a Mountain Lion just zapping Past.
Her Image Cast Head and Profile That
As I think of her Now, Road, Moon, and Last
The Light that she Drew from her Eyes at That.
I knew She had Seen Me and from a Distance.
Had she Something to say to me Then, Spread
Across the double lanes from RIght to Left.
Timed by Vehicles and Center Divide.
I felt as we’d Merged, she was Always on Track.
Her Instinct, her Fur, and Her Asterisk*Friday, June 12, 2015
OAK TREE TOO YOUNG FOR ACORNS
The OAKS on the Avenue gave 3 Acorns.
They are TOO YOUNG . They each THree had Holes.
The Weevils had already Got Them. Before.
Like the Infant TUrtle had not made it to Shore.
But Instead was Trapped between Hot LEgs
AND Hotter Pavements Of Walls of Consensus.
They Broach their Great Hope- SPORT of the LIVING.
TO OUTLIVE One Accident Remain STRONG.
Like a Turtle to its Shell to its LEGS LENGTHS.
Traveling over Ocean FLOORS come Home.
The Roost in their Origins. They GO THROUGH.
From Time's Smallest Chances to its FUTURE.
An Oak Can Bend but it Won't Falter.
EL ROBLE DOBLA PERO NO QUIEBRA
They are TOO YOUNG . They each THree had Holes.
The Weevils had already Got Them. Before.
Like the Infant TUrtle had not made it to Shore.
But Instead was Trapped between Hot LEgs
AND Hotter Pavements Of Walls of Consensus.
They Broach their Great Hope- SPORT of the LIVING.
TO OUTLIVE One Accident Remain STRONG.
Like a Turtle to its Shell to its LEGS LENGTHS.
Traveling over Ocean FLOORS come Home.
The Roost in their Origins. They GO THROUGH.
From Time's Smallest Chances to its FUTURE.
An Oak Can Bend but it Won't Falter.
EL ROBLE DOBLA PERO NO QUIEBRA
AFRICA AND ARIZONA: WALCOT AND ENGLISH
The Senator is Handsome, He's Passionate.
He has Everything but an Agent of Love at Command.
Why do the Women watch On Think Lean but CUT?
Why do they ALLOW HIM TO CALL THEM SLUTS!
WE DON"T GO FOR THAT! NOR FEMISWINE THONGS.
WE ARE WHATEVER WHAT WASN"T READ LONG.
BEFORE it DUG DOWN DEEPER than COPPER.
TO THAT DUAL CORE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD>
ITS WHEELS BEAUTIFY REASON WITH BLISS.
THESE ARE HIS SOURCES: AFRICAN SONG.
TRebled at the Quake of the Dawn Caribbean!
The Boat that the NOBEL GENTLEMAN WALCOT.
CALLED HIS AMERICA AND HIS PATOIS.
AN ENGLISH MORE CLASSIC THAN SHAKESPEARE'S
He has Everything but an Agent of Love at Command.
Why do the Women watch On Think Lean but CUT?
Why do they ALLOW HIM TO CALL THEM SLUTS!
WE DON"T GO FOR THAT! NOR FEMISWINE THONGS.
WE ARE WHATEVER WHAT WASN"T READ LONG.
BEFORE it DUG DOWN DEEPER than COPPER.
TO THAT DUAL CORE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD>
ITS WHEELS BEAUTIFY REASON WITH BLISS.
THESE ARE HIS SOURCES: AFRICAN SONG.
TRebled at the Quake of the Dawn Caribbean!
The Boat that the NOBEL GENTLEMAN WALCOT.
CALLED HIS AMERICA AND HIS PATOIS.
AN ENGLISH MORE CLASSIC THAN SHAKESPEARE'S
CONTEMPORARIES
I sat Down with the COntemporaries.
They found ME thus: Too Much Wordsworth.
19th Century Backdrop without Melody. Pathos.
What has happened to her language or Tongue?
Not Quite English Not Fully SPanish.
Yet here she is at the Rambling of TUrtles.
Better for the National Geographic.
Science or Morals. Not These Dirt Allays.
Where Poetry fights back at the PUS!
With its own Shame, Self, and HONOR's CRY.
YOU ARE DIDACTIC VASQUEZ GO ON.
ALRIGHT MY EQUALS OF NO MATTER MINE.
I LOVE YOU YOU ARE TEH EQUALS OF PINE.
YOU CRY FOR LOST INNOCENCE WHILE I SIGH>
They found ME thus: Too Much Wordsworth.
19th Century Backdrop without Melody. Pathos.
What has happened to her language or Tongue?
Not Quite English Not Fully SPanish.
Yet here she is at the Rambling of TUrtles.
Better for the National Geographic.
Science or Morals. Not These Dirt Allays.
Where Poetry fights back at the PUS!
With its own Shame, Self, and HONOR's CRY.
YOU ARE DIDACTIC VASQUEZ GO ON.
ALRIGHT MY EQUALS OF NO MATTER MINE.
I LOVE YOU YOU ARE TEH EQUALS OF PINE.
YOU CRY FOR LOST INNOCENCE WHILE I SIGH>
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