Read Poetry Strewn Along Life's Pathways Page 6
and dumb
cripple, seeking a cure, a touch of a hem
as i watch other shadows
on sunless morning i wonder
who hears the chant
"Awake! Awake!"
?
[8/83]
The Hot Spot
it was, they said, the right spot
sit here, stand there, kneel here
with thick calluses on my knees
and thickened calves made strong
through walking the outside Stations
I savored the comfort of their words
who is youth to say, "Is this it?"
"Is this all?" “I want more!”
when the wizened and the wizardly
shake their heads and flail their arms
shouting, "This is it!" "Enough! Be satisfied!"
the calluses I now bear
cannot be scraped by sharpened knives
for they reside within at that spot
which no monastic map plots
twenty years of stumbling
through alleys and across raging highways
has left me lean and clean of tooth
no fat monk have I become
in transvestite garb and purple comfort
no mastery of the ancient tongue is mine
no grave with cultivated lilies is reserved for me
the face I now bear
is ugly with the scars of lashes
meted out in the public square
and etched by private pains only lovers share
the wines of the world have long gone to vinegar
and the clothes I wear no longer drape my fears
I have stood in the endless lines with the lost
and find that the striking of the clock indicts not me
I have played the game from many hands
and cursed my luck in foreign tongues
and welcomed the morning with farts and groans
and lied to many as I sought another truth
the day breaks most often as my dog barks
or my kid walks into my room, "Dad are you awake?"
and I swing my leg of lead onto the rug
and rub the sleep of lives now past
and celebrate the spot wherein I awake
it is the right spot
[9/83]
Who Was She?
they crushed the flowers atop her grave
and heaved the clods of dirt against her face
with the strength of their anger and their hate
they stomped the ground, embracing her, with their curses
who was she that inspired such rages
who called forth tremors from behind the heart
who shook them so and tore them apart?
was she mother, sister, daughter or lover
what role did she play, what song had she sung
what power did she possess while under their sun?
i watched the scene and rushed to ask
but their lips were rock
and their wild eyes focused behind my head
i watched the snow cover their tracks
and lay a glistening blanket over her patch
with such vengeance spread on her plot
i wondered if grass would grow in the Spring
one day i happened back that way
and caught a young nun at her grave
i tapped her and was startled by her trembling shout,
"NO! not me. I will not raise her from the dead!!"
i stood there in muted witness to her fear
and calculated that no grass had sprouted anywhere
what kind of person could she have been
to draw forth such ugliness from everyone?
only on a distant day at a moment far away
did i remember why I had first gone there
someone in the street had proclaimed,
"The witch is dead!
The mirror is broken!"
[9/83]
Wandering
A Card For the Birth of Day
i remember when my son was born
at 1:30 in the morning even pain is unclear
i talked with my dog and drank bitter whiskey
and was comforted that now i had someone who'd
cry at my grave
what is the memory which you were never told
that covered your first moments?
these, i guess, i'll never know
i've known you only in a fourth birth
that one reserved for lovers
who die on the delta of your belly
as darkness overcomes the flames of their tongues
deserted by his mother, i touched my son
under a steely violet fluorescence
(they say it is good for his skin)
and he grabbed my finger & smiled
i'm sure he wondered who the hell i was!
apart from you, as only closeness can divide
i find a desire ashamed of its intent
to carry you within my muscled chest
and nurse you on the milk of my heart
deserted by me, who will touch you
who will fondle you and rock you to sleep on their belly?
is there another, a shadow in the night
who will child you away from me?
this day, take a memory from me
find it encoded in the embrace which lingers
and the tears of desiring
which only my dog now deigns to lick
i remember when you were born
[8/83]
A Normal Man
I asked your mother
why you are so crazy
after all I am a normal man
with normal wants and simple desires
to whom you say, "Let's dance!" "Let's sing!"
I asked your old lady
was she like this always?
did she beg to read the bedtime story upside down
and have you act out the tale in the pictures?
were you such a mysterious child
like the adult who prays only in her shower?
did you let the ants hold wild nights on your arm?
were you the kid who kept losing her books
as she scampered after butterflies?
I held this inquiry in an ample room
and I left your mother many moments for response
but she just looked at me
with eyes that stole the strength from my heart
and said, "Let's dance!" "Let's sing!"
[9/83]
A Simple Tale
they told a simple tale
which they knew few would believe
yet their hearts could not deny
what the eye refused to see
who can look at a man
so ugly in blood and pain
and smell the fragrance of a rose
and ever remain the same?
for the story is so simple
that it defies the tests
of minds made sharp by questioning
everything about my quest
yes, you have asked me to tell you
why I believe in this way
but I cannot answer you
I can only say
touch the ugliness within me
feel its breath, and taste its wine
and if you love me still
I am sure he was divine
A Time Together
(for Pat)
the path which stood before them curled beyond eyesight
no majestic clouds parted to reveal a guiding ray
only their hands clasped gave courage to their steps
the path would tease them
with lilac covered alleys of no exit
and entice them on with escapes on hilly tops
in the bright midday sun where shadows lose their luster
&
nbsp; bewilderment would arrive on a bird's song
and one would rush ahead heedlessly swelled by the tune
at twilight stones would glimmer messages
and their breaths would whisper incantations
drawn from the visions of moonless nights together
each day was so unlike the rest
joined only by the common loss of the sighted path they had trod
as each morn brought a discussion of maps over coffee cups
except for messages left on leaves in wormbitten code
only their prayers brought comfort to those whom they left behind
let us celebrate the curling path
and return the distant echo of their name
"We are the lovers! .... Come, follow us, if you can!"
[9/83]
Counting
it is but a moment
that we are given
to gasp at life
to gasp at death
and moments pile on moments
as in between the gasps
we cleverly measure out
the space between the minutes on the clock
one moment i am free,
the next i am my prisoner
committed to a dervish of marrying seconds
sentenced to a platter of moments in a cage
released to an unstoppable clutter of measured events
it is in the moment that some say we are
fully holy, irredeemably redeemed, forever damned
it takes no longer, it takes no less
than a moment
one moment you were there,
the next you are in here
with baggage and furniture being delivered at 2
unashamed that you forgot your toothbrush and comb
laughing at my embarrassment of your presence
why won't these moments ever leave me?
lose themselves in the wash of hours and days?
confide themselves to the duty of newspapers?
why do they linger and linger and linger?
one moment began it all again
one moment began the wake
and the old Irish wailer moaned her tune
as I watched you walk from the room
it is but a moment
that we are given
to gasp at life
to gasp at death
[9/83]
Day
There is a mystery in the morning
as shadows rise in moon's last light
and I take your hand within my heart
and leave the dark embrace we are as night
on the pillow first touched by daylight
It is the daytime which loses this memory
of the spot wherein we are one
It is in the bright light of midday
where no shadows linger in my heart
that your hand caresses the darkness
of my dream
It is the daytime which loses this memory
of the spot wherein we are one
To you at the border of shadows I come
with useless eyes and numbed tongue
I seek the healing touch of but your ragged hem:
all I want is
but to dream with you again
It is the daytime which loses this memory
of the