Recently in poetry Category

So, I don't entirely understand what he's saying, but I think it's important.

The Hand That Signed the Paper Felled a City

The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.

The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to murder
That put an end to talk.

The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand that holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.

The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor pat the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.

Last night we walked home with Dona Meche who perambulates with a gentle swaying gait and speaks softly of peaceful things.

We clasped hands behind her, and held a home between ten knuckles and two glinting rings.

"La luna es muy bonita." We looked up to see the shining spirit hanging brilliant in the dark,

Spinning smoothly upward, spilling with a brightness it does not contain.

And I thought -- as the earth made yet another revolution around the sun --

Mi esposa, la luna.

Cuando yo era una pequeña niña,
La vida era muy diferente.
En esos dias, yo no sabia la diferencia
Entre riqueza y pobreza,
Abundancia y miseria.

No entendia que el mundo se extendia
Mas alla de mi barrio.
Yo nunca necesitaba pensar sobre
Otras personas ademas de mi.

Pero, a medid que iba creciendo
Me volvia mas consciente del mundo.
Yo comenzaba comprender
Mas del sufrimiento y tristeza.

Yo empezaba a observar pena
En muchos ojos,
Y veia que muchas personas
Iban errante sin esperanza.

Today there’s only silence from the West:
No word from the curséd town.
And we can’t believe that we believed this best.

We’ve heard that every ocean wave must crest
And with a heavy groan come crashing down,
But today there’s only silence from the West.

They said, “Cross the Mississippi-you’ll be blessed!
The soil is of national renown!”
Now we can’t believe that we believed this best.

Success! It was the creed that we confessed.
Well, water is a fine thing, too, until you drown.
And today there’s only silence from the West,

Yes, today we are poor and sore distressed.
As pasture-green turns into desert-brown,
We can’t believe that we believed this best.

One day those who labor will find rest
And exchange their dusty sorrows for a crown-
But today there’s only silence from the West,
And we can’t believe that we believed this best.

4.19.01

My bride brings me pineapple --
not canned, but fresh
harvested delicious
liquid yellow flesh.

My lovely hunter-gatherer –
innocent and wise –
Braves the many-aisled market
with two strong arms and two keen eyes.
Braves the bonus card bonanza
the Freon, the fluorescence,
the cynical cashiers,
and arrives –

Undaunted and triumphant,
a merchant ship with golden sails
Carrying her blue-bagged bounty
from faraway locales.

Our hidden yellow treasure,
our Ananas comosus,
awaits the knifeblade revelation
of amazing future grace.
And we will know the pleasure
of a longer, deeper taste.

My bride brings me pineapple --
not canned, but fresh
harvested delicious
liquid yellow flesh.

(upon receipt of Winn-Dixie pineapple in June)