Poetry

Contentment and Chaos

Poetry

"A poem, as a manifestation of language and thus essentially dialogue, can be a message in a bottle, sent out in the-not always greatly hopeful-belief that somewhere and sometime it could was up on land, on heartland perhaps. Poems in this sense too are underway: they are making towards something."
-Paul Celan-

The Veil of Darkness

The long and flowing fabrics
of black and gray and blue
conceal all that is beautiful.
It conceals all that is womanly,
the astuteness of the breast
the soft and sensual curvature of the hips
the tender radiance of the skin.
It flows from the crown like a river of death
strangling all that is beauty
all that is dignity
all that is life.

The motherly soul cries out
through the complete constriction of burqa
that permits merely a broken glimpse
of their male sanctioned world.
It suffocates the very being
that nurtured and carried them
into creation
into the sun.

Floating on a harsh wind
from the sterile peaks of the Hindu Kush
these shrouds,
denied all dignity and humanity
conspicuously stroll
past the bleak and bombed out shells
that are the constituents of a war and an iron fist
that has left them no joy
no life
no hope.

Beacon

The waves crash
unmercifully at my feet
as I stare across the bay
to the majestic and mystical skyline
that radiates its hues of blue
of white
of gold
in an angelic aura

The brisk winds of the North
usher in the end of the annual cycle of life
forcing the water up the stark concrete wall
that permits all that is human
to maintain its artificial prominence
for just a little longer.

Clinging to shoreline that was once
home to Shawmut and Manet
these dwellings
of weathered wood and metal
face towards that majestic castles in the sky
that serve as a beacon from across the bay,
tempting its inhabitants into its mystique and grandiosity.

As the North wind blows upon the narrow strip of terra
the inhabitants once more return
completing the cycle.

The Promised One

The surfers paddle out
to the rolling army of waves
with curiosity and bewonderment.

They await the promised one
as the Israelites awaited safe passage
from bondage
into the land of milk and honey
with a perseverance so strong
that all reality becomes null.

As the promised one
rises above the horizon
the surfers mount their boards,
which glisten in the sun
like a carpet of fresh fallen snow,
and attack this impending target.
Riding its crest
like a soldier storming the City of Troy
only to be brought
crashing down
into the dark, gray and swirling trough.

The curiosity and bewonderment
of the promised one
remains.
Imbedded in the consciousness
of those who seek it.

Coffee and Beans

The crew sits down
on the black metal chairs
that crowd around the small circular table
which stands solemnly, stoically, on the red brick walk.

The scents of mochas
of cappuccinos
of tea
and Garcia y Vega
fill the warm air of the pre-autumnal night
as the masses stream by,
oblivious to our intricate
concoction of reality.

Each of us,
as a blend of coffee beans
and beverages
has a distinct flavor and taste.

Whether Listening Bird spreads her wings and flies
or Bethy and Keffy tear up that verbal dance on the brick walk
of Mamma Nikki and Anna hatch and release that fire
or Suna claims her own
or Mikey openly creates the list,
we each occupy a single spot
while simultaneously
we combine in the spirit of energy and life
to live our own unique reality
out on the brick sidewalk
on that small round table
which stands solemnly, stoically, on the red brick walk.

Transcendence

The golden rays
beat down upon the barren, windswept heights
that glisten with the white of snow
which stream down from the tempestuous above
in a cascade of chaos and indecisiveness.

Streaking down until
consumed by the dense mass of snarled appendages of green
which envelops and incorporates them
into a swift and silver streak
that cascades further
into a transition
of orange
of red
of yellow
which mirrors the artists palette
that Mother has sanctioned.

They penetrate yet further
to my white feet
which rest amongst the blades of green
that surrounds them in a loyal cacophony
where they disperse
in a sporadic whirlwind of dance
and indiscriminance