*Sand Castles
i think i’ll build a sand castle
to be my mime
to make a parable of
this timeless time…
i am what i am which
is altogether nothing standing
upon the shores of a naked
beach-naked save my pondering
frown
listening with one ear to
the sound of the waves lapping
to the loneliness of my heart beating
to the rhythms of some ancient universe
a visionary!
Ezekiel waiting with
teary eyes for the fiery-wheeled chariot
to reclaim him once again
redemption too far for me now
too far
now only the sighs
and the rustling ocean wind
i am what i am which is
altogether nothing
like the grains of sand underneath
my feet warming my toes
the current pulls and the eddies flow
pulling the sand and the earth
and the seaweeds below
o.k.
i’m not the enlightened one
no salvation…
no touch but the
gritty sand in between my toes
wait a minute…
i hear the rush of wind
a cloud dark but luminous descends
and lo!
it’s Ezekiel’s chariot! a tugboat
hauling lobsters
no…
remember, no matter how much
the waves ebb and flow
it adds up to the same
…nothing
like the sum of all
the atoms in the universe
am i the universe?
and, alas! i know
why stars give up their souls
and burst spewing forth
cosmic dust like grains of sand
forever more
like my scattering thoughts
upon the ocean shore
out…
into the great void
that was the curve of time
i think i’ll build a sand castle
to be my mime
to make a parable of
this timeless time…
|
Grandfather/Me
my grandfather was a great man
but i didn’t get to know him
baldhead obscured behind apple scented tobacco clouds
eyes telling the story of a lost generation’s negro struggle
“we shall over come…we shall over…”
come with me, grandson, back to the deep woods of the blackberry south
the wide mouth-cooking pan
fried eggs over easy
and the hammering nails into the coffin of a silent black man
the rising choir of a sweaty baptist church
the rickety weather beaten porch
and homemade fishing line snatching perchcenturies old african talmudic legends told
under the pitter patter of a rusty roof made of steel
big black knuckled john henry’s hands
gripping the wide steering wheel
of a truck as it struggles to climb a hill
“over the hills and through the woods…”
i wish i could take a walk down your memory lane
in your unbuffed and tattered boots
“shine, sir?”
“what you call me?”
amazing grace awaiting moses to part the sea
thin, nineteen twenties cotton club mustache shading his lips
untold signs and secret masonic shakes and
grips to dash to pieces the plate
‘cause dinner’s late and he can’t wait
another three-score-and-ten
‘cause hypertension’s setting in
and he’s getting a little thinmy grandfather died with a greasy mechanic’s tool in his hand
and with him all his secrets perished
the mystery of the southern virginia woods
and all the things i could’ve cherished
now, sepia cloured pictures are staring back at me
in snapshot-time-frozen-mirrored-material
of an old negro spiritual
link to my three generation’s separated soul
and at three generations finally fulfilled
i think i know, on this day
what in his own silent brown eyes’ way
my grandfather’s eye were trying to say |
THIRSTY
by "OBSIDIAN!!!" c. 2006
eye'm thirsty
for my cherokee soul
and my cherokee soul
is thirsty for me...
good-bye western road
good-bye yellow brick
sea my name is now
'LongRiver' trying to trace
the ways of trees
skrying to trace the
path of the wind by
the river front as
the river front bends
trying to trace the
meaning of the words
skrying to hear voices
unheard which pass through
the branches of the trees
by the river front
standing by the shores
of the river front
standing by the shores
of the long riverride
home...
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