Sem(a)ntics

Reverie in Flight: an Airport Poem

1.

Hey men with extra large pecs, when
Did you stop thinking?
And then so many I see walking
Tall cellos by their sides
Tailed in black tapered coat and tinsel
Hey ladies in taffeta scarves
And imagined Britney behinds
When did you stop dreaming?

2.

So the white guys are eyeing brown
Breads and a few babes
Bathed in vanilla and pine
The beauties are gasp-gawking at
The Cosmopolitan uninherited, seated
Not greeted at all
Also a few mustachioed men
Are copying the Al Pacino of a shattered mirror
Waited upon by their battered suitcases
Also their wives of wide wide margins
A little bristled for they are un-whistled at
Ever. Never.

3.

Hey grooved guys of lavender ties
When did you stop smiling, when
Was it stocks sailing for you, when not?
Hey soothsayers of nachos in melted cheddar
When did you stop testing if the dough was soft
If the dawn was green and doe meant only –eyed?
You have known tongues unknown, swear words swords
You can flash and rest like journeyfolks so,
Hey folks, hey fellows, hey goose, hey gander
When did you making stopping by us broods so hermetic and cool?

Genesis Trilogy

I. What the Serpent Said to Her

You may follow me towards
A destiny of multitude
As I draw it
On the sand
In a tailspin

You may think I’m a green bough
And my eyes buds
Of a spring
That’ll not scorn you
Because you have bones
Shaped like a bow or harp
That shoots or sings

We can celebrate your footfalls
Give them the name of a music.

If you follow me.

II. What She Said to Us

These songs are not mine
Nor these epic stories
These rivers
Were dug elsewhere
No wonder the water’s gone brackish
This fiber is too coarse
For my bark and soul
This food does not nourish
These walls were built
For your cattle
Not me.

Don’t tilt your weights
Don’t strike your rib so hard
If you don’t
I will tell you if
Cloud walking is a virtue
And if, my talking, my waking, with you
Is a virtue you can hold on to
Like my arms.

III. What the Poet Thought

What came out during a revelation
On the state of the man
Is that He lacked wings
Though hundreds of years had passed and He
Never even bothered to be like Icarus
That mythical moron
The unfortunate but imaginative one
Who took a plunge for things most loved.

Besides, what She recounted,
He had already lost in his dreamless sleeps
The language of liturgy
Forgotten in His worships.

Like She was forgotten to Him
Like leaves rustled unheard
Like serpents laying their calm heads down, seeking
To warm their skin were not seen as bards.

I, only I was left to sing.

Poe(t)ics

Poetry Forms

Wonder what witch
was it that
stirred a mix
-ture of petals
opium poppy
and other leaves
Plato’s potion or
an ointment
to help them all
fly to readings
recite verses with
the other witches.

The Twilight Sleep
is yet to dawn
numbing the meters
deadly rhymes
burning the poetry man
-grove with salt.

We know, do know
this bella donna
taints the witch
-craft of thoughts
unpredictable, guilt
-ed of toxic charms.

Par(able)

Border Votes

We came across the paddy fields at dawn
Shall we then go back at night to emerge
The next day and stain our fingers with ink?
We can bring stale rice soaked in lime juice
To keep us going, paddy field to macadam
Counting tidy sums that’s yours; ours too
In sickness and hunger, bribing or buying
So that across another fence of otherness
We stand defenseless, watch this business
Of men and women calling us their kind
And then looking away at ballot stamps
To erase our hands, holds; stump our faces.

The Death Row Inmate Sings a Ruba’i

A night that held my hand and promised a day
to you, to field flowers and the sunshine of May,
is witness to my vice or folly
uncommitted. So, take this last letter and put it away.