Grampy’s soft soul is slippery
with voided balconies,
overdosed drugs, and
the self-induced pneumonia
of neglect. He wants to
be by her side
in the great beyond
after more than 60 years
together in the here and now.
There is no way to explain
why not
after all
what consolation is
an empty apartment of memories
that flow stronger than time?
The descendants and helpers
who bring conscious present
do little to stave off
omnipresent death.
Not pretend
but real death —
she’s gone.
Grammy, rest tranquil
in the stillborn dawn
never to wake
by Grampy’s side again.
The pain is over,
the waiting done,
the death drugs flushed
safely down the toilet
where they now belong.
Mingle with the universal
so Grampy can feel
your love spread lovingly
through his suicidal soul.
The time will come
soon enough for you
both to rest side by side
cremains in a cubby
built for two
for all time.
Nothin’ much sadder than a
Beach town in the rain.
The place ain’t built for it
and the sky water leaks down
through cracks we never guessed
at onto the sunburnt necks
of frowning tourists who flee sunward
stranding only those who
have no better destination in mind,
afloat under thundrous skies.
Chest sculpted by the sand and the waves
tufts of hair between muscled breasts
the young surfer flexes his bicep
carrying his board to the sea.
Wading then paddling in the waves
to sit floating, awaiting the perfect swell,
the chance to skim the surface
of the roiling water as it breaks
crashing in calumnous cascades
on the shallow ocean floor.
[written on Jeribucaçu Beach near Itacaré, Bahia, Brazil]
Lying on a blanket on the barking sand
The waves crash on the beach
masking the calls of jungle birds.
Nearby the palm fronds flutter
like cocoanut fans rattling
in the ocean breeze.
[written on Jeribucaçu Beach near Itacaré, Bahia, Brazil]
Trancing on drum beats and chanting
Welcome to the Orishas,
Passion seizes candomblé souls
White-clad in a circle of power.
The spirit possesses —
Ogum bares his iron sword
threatening conflict and war.
Oxum flows around him
water contained in land.
Omolú shakes his straw-covered head
eyes hiding death and disease.
Iansã blows and storms,
unstoppable force of nature.
Oxossi hunts his inevitable prey
providing food and prosperity.
Xangô twirls breathing fire,
flames thundering from his limbs.
Iemanjá, siren of the sea,
hears fisherman ask for protection and plenty.
The spirit possesses —
Eyes rolled up white
Bodies trembling in ecstacy
Welcome to the Orishas!
[Thanks to the Balé Folclórico de Bahia for an excellent performance in Salvador, Brazil.]
When we meet,
spears from armpits
pierce our hearts.
Arms’ length love,
unmerciful until we
sweat our sorrows.
When we see
bloodstained tattered tunics —
seize our souls!
Stroke uplifting shafts —
unsheathed tingling tongues
lick our wounds.
Who knows – the toil of words
stuck so deep – in human flesh?
Even the most strenuous striving
but a strain for the secretive soul.
Light pierces the alabaster hoard
that emits no shriek or sigh,
no way no how – are you of a
hapless tick-tick-ticking time?
My eye brings its own brand,
searing with no resort to heat
to hide what no rationale can
sing…
We always ride
the present wave
into the future
whether as perfectly
poised surfer or
dragged by our
big toes through
the roiling waters.
Though riding long
erect implies grace
and fleeting fame,
no life lacks
the thundering surf
pounding out gasping
breaths, choking briny
water. We do
our best to
avoid sharks in
the salty sea,
or pulling weeds
from the deep.
No expanse voids
our silky song,
the castaways’ motley
dream parched in
watery plenty. Most
bob listlessly in
peace deep sinking
souls surround surrender
tubular striving to
the distant mirage
on the shore.
Specters of one-time friends
rattle my nightmares —
nightsweats from that spicy meal?
Age-old anxieties push tears to
my brow, well up from some
diffuse and wandering center of pain.
Is it high blood pressure hammering my heart,
indigestions’ pit against my stomach’s pit?
Headache sinus sore throat raw omen of death?