Poetry
These poems were born in the Netherlands, under the shade of cypress trees, urged by quiet
winds that ferried tiny rippled across still canals. These poems have purposefully been spared
the scrutiny of editorial introspection. They are the way they appeared out of the waters...the
still waters which often absorbed my vacant gaze, and gave back some words that fermented,
and became something more than mere words.
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The Rememberance
You were sought among Sal,
You were found among mangroves.
Searched for among carnations,
Found among dandelions.
A sprig of hope,
A clear well of desire,
You were full of ice and fire
All at once.
Garnered like berries
Turned to gall in the gut.
With your trifling words
I read my lines,
Till I was left without a heart
Like a banyan tree!. . . . . . . . .
So Far Away
A dead mole rotting lay
On the sidewalk putrid grey,
Swollen like he’d had the moon.
Thankless ants in frenzy feed,
In delirious discovery!
Yesterday’s mole now
armored with flies
Teeth barred, and gorged eyes.
Entrails exploding into a
centerpiece
Of black crows banquet.
Pulled, pecked, and fought over
Draws such attention dead
He never did alive.
What will remain of him
tomorrow
While you are still so far
away. . . . . . . . . .
I Wait For You
As watchmen wait for the
morning
I wait for you.
In silence deep and long,
As still as the North Star
Above frigid waters,
As deep as the heart of
darkness
On moonless nights,
I wait for you.
As aging wine in forgotten
cellars
For the corkscrew,
As clean starched napkins
For the gravy stains,
As a boxer waits for the bell
In the ringing din of the last
blow.
As a good horse on a bad leg
For the gunshot.
As the sightless wait
For the death of darkness,
As a night of tears
For the dawn. . . . . . . . . .