poems from my head!

Poemu


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the things i keep with me.

  1. father's bee-keeping book.
  2. two pencils, a pen with no cap.
  3. keys to the house
  4. keys to the bike, and a lock
  5. a journal with no entries
  6. a tailsman from grandmother, to gain happiness and wealth
  7. a map of the city, in case I am lost.

altar.

Partially bent.
Wrapped round the edges in a thin satin.
Like a present.
Twin columns leaning into a pile of ash,
Dull yellow.
Tips all smoked out, red and pink.
Still smoldering.

I used to trace a spark through the air and watch where it landed,
Took a glance out the room and you could see where it-
Landed on withered plants.
Or - Sun struck appliances,
Or - tangled up in fan blades.
Or- in my grandmother's hair.
Where it would die without waking her.

sleepless night


what do animals dream of?
when they sleep do they dream of worlds of food, with no darkness?
or do they dream of mazes - stretched out beyond one can see?

hardwood

I stubbed my toe on the sharp edge of the table -
the nail bent and curled.
Curled like our house on a raised foundation -
Raised by the reaching arms of redwoods
- at the back of our house.

Roots crawling towards
Something its hand
Sinking deep into the
Earth, with
tired slow growth.
Like the hardwood in our house
Cracking under my feet.
saw the cracks and,
Had the trees cut in two weeks.

The foundations still cracked and curled.
stumps still taking water
roots still taking concrete
like a corpse refusing to die.

american love story

asbestos spangled face,
like freckles
in the places - I knew by heart

Mica in the air
like boats,
a drift in the stars

Jumbled heart jambalaya
water melon, and papaya
fruits of your efforts,
thrown up all on the lawn.

I think that I thought, that you were the one,
you were choking fume,
pollen in bloom from the stone quarry, two miles away.

Mandarin

Fumes from the gas stove,
Rose up in stalks towards the ceiling -
Or was it from the mouth of the smoker?
My grandfather's mouth spouting a thin stem of brown,
As if a kettle were boiling.
At the top of these stalks a face all white,
Two halves of an tangerine painted ivory,
A crown of yellow centered to stand out through the rinds.

A parade of white orchids, walking through my home.

the sun 

And one day my         bones will chamfer and split  

My nerves will         divorce     into      sparks  

there  will  no  longer  be  a  bridge  between  heaven  and  earth 

I will go where the land meets the sky, and the Son walks amoung us.