Thursday, November 20, 2008

(For Yen)

Call her an electric currency.
Imagine a banknote
high as her cheekbones.
Yearn to say grace in Cantonese.
Not before an ordinary meal,
but before lips full as ripe fruit.
Say the tongue dreams
of tasting her oranges,
freshly peeled. Dreams
they say pluck me in Mandarin,
of softly circling a Navel.
The flesh pulses with Blood
anticipating a touch.

What does she deal
if not a high card narcotic ?
Call her addiction (opiate):
watch her smile blossom
wide as the petals of Poppies.
I cannot box, but will rebel
if denied these endorphins.
Intervene S'il vous Plait.
I'll relapse into a dream
of her slender fingers.
I bend like a card
marked by a yearning:
Wash me face down,
shuffle me by hand, I beg.

Monday, November 17, 2008

In Other News

OK, here's a version of a crazy poem I was playing around with. The actual poem has a slightly different layout, but I don't think this blog format will display it properly. Lots of punning and tangential leaps, a few jokes and lines I thought might be clever. I guess it's a love poem of some sort.


A sign of

Love's liquid change

molecular letters

stated symbolically

buy a drunken tattoo

a tavern cryptograph ≠ a bar code

scanned lines numbered

Sin, Neck, Dough, Key

of lips radiating red

of hot fingers on a cool palm

excited now as though

she wasn't a complete tease

the hand covering her mouth

a stone bluff ?

Overhanging. A sticky desire.

To be called ?

Thursday, November 06, 2008

Let us sing a new song

(B-Bop Solo # 3)

Her voice
rides a breeze,
her song washes
like eternal waves,
(although sea water
and the salt of sorrow
may be too married.)
Medleyed with a morning sun,
her tone tracks the heart's arc.
Since all that would elevate
fear what falling might follow,
she is careful,
sings of descent first,
is cautious with what
she allows to be heard
in the harmony.
And we wonder
what price of translation
she pays, as she sings
in a voice that is naked
and slowly utters
every word
by barefoot

Her voice is more searchlight
than song, splashes dunes
with waves of something
wilder than water.
Her lyrics are a people's sighs
medleyed with moonlight,
a sound like whales exhaling.
Since tears shine,
what saline struggle
she's tasted illuminates her,
reflecting what
traces of grace
she may have seen
in the foam swirling
across what beach she walks.
She knows the sea and sorrow
sing in the same key,
but chooses to listen
to what the tide
utters in the interim,
word by rising word.

(For Cesaria Evora)

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Morning in America

"This victory alone is not the change we seek, it is only the chance to make that change."

Past all the symbolism and the emotional import of last night remains the fact that this man is the real deal. Like the Tiger Woods of politics, not just I think in his appeal, but in his sheer ability to perform under pressure and get the job done. I am not often impressed, but last night watching that speech I was about as impressed as I have ever been by a politician. I loved the way he used the quote above to switch the tenor of his speech and deal with the reality of the situation we face. May god bless Barack Obama and god bless the United States of America. (Yeah, I'm a non-theist, but so what)