Legend has it
That when Arabs chanced upon you
Acting very unlike a tree,
Dancing up dust,
Blushing whimsical lust
Shining
In the huge white flowers
That rushed to embrace the moon,
You know the game was up.
And soon it came to
pass.
The Arabs harassed you
And conjured up a devil
Who plucked you from the ground,
Turned you upside down
And thrust your branches into the earth,
Leaving only the roots exposed.
I suppose this
explains
Your curious ancient repose,
The rows of gourd like, woody fruit
Grown pleasantly round from acid seeds,
The vegetable leaves thrown wild
To the ground by the African breeze,
But mostly,
A trunk grossly swollen
Out of all proportion,
By a thousand years of branches
Groping about
Growing stout
Shouting from the inside out
Green Tea
did I tell you about
the tea?
It’s green
As green
As fresh green weed
In little flow-thru baggies
One hundred percent natural
One hundred ninety nine milligrams
Flavonoid antioxidants per serving
Oh honey it beckoned to me
Like green candy
I let it steep forever
It seemed like the right thing to do
I would rather drink
water!
Untitled
I have
nothing
to
offer
but
me
love
faith
trust
heart
humor
honesty
empathy
patience
compassion
lots of poetry
and baggage too
we all hold
swords
in joy we give them
to the sky
in pain we turn on each other
in faith despite we sharpen them
in love we learn to stay our hands
What in the world can be wrong?
in memory of
Stevie Ray
Maybe an urgent
guitar
Couldn’t bluff trouble knocking
Like a fist full of faith is said to do.
Maybe the love struck baby
Just wasn’t strong enough
To hush the rough ride home.
Maybe he know too much, or
Maybe the magic was a shade too blue.
Maybe the blues
wouldn’t do.
The King’s
Court
Unimpressed with
clever chase,
Graceful lunges and wild cat pirouettes
Blurred by the pace of the hunt,
The king of the beasts rests
(like a true leader) weary
And tense under a Knobthorn tree,
While his lionesses shop the veld
To bring his dinner down.
He was born to these
hunts
A cocky young cub electric and fluid,
Snubbed by his menacing pride
And left to his own devices
To learn the taste of his fate,
To flaunt his scars like a fighter should.
But he’s as old as
the sun in his eyes now
And eager for a fitful feast,
Because he knows...
(like vultures onto scent)
There are bold young hopefuls nearby,
Hungry for the kill, for first tights,
Sharpening their virgin claws
And watching his every move.
He will need all the
strength
and tricks experience can muster
From his flustered old bones
To keep his throne for another day.
Dethroned
Twirling about in
dizzy flight
Claws biting flesh like switch blades,
The old king and his challenger
Fight
Back off
Parade back and forth
And circle,
Their tails as angry as whips.
Roars attack the
untamed silence
And shudder across the veld
Demanding attention
Like gunshots at night.
And every living thing knows
There is a new threat in town,
The wind doesn’t blow quite the same,
Something’s changed...
A strong young
killer first cut
Is staking his claim
And taking the old one down.
paramount to my
problem
is the them/her/you
or it all i
know no other way to say it
i am burned by the passion
of such fire over and over it
means i become a prisoner
of love willingly i search my
soul for solutions reasons i
cannot bring myself to love
myself realizing this curses
me/you/them/all i hold dear
