Days of Heaven

The seminal fire

Quiet, quelling the querulous

Nature's nurture – never casting shadows

Where crickets count sheep

and cousin locust never clouds our point of view

The eye in the sky twinkles indomitably

but burns too intensely – illuminating imminence

Innocence gone like days of polar winters

Leaving us frozen with the nostalgia of not knowing

The Great Gig in the Sky

winter

roaring nightly but drowning daily

spring

staking its claim deep in the dirt

summer

skulking away into a solemn sunset

autumn

arriving as a peacock in disguise a crow

GOD

sweating profusely

with

each breath a gale of exhaustion

as the

seasons seek dominion over the other

Killamanjaro

Dark urges mixed with passions' flare:

my relapses come frequently recently

as seen by my foreboding fumaroles

Mawenzi on the right and Shira on the left:

the demon and the angel extinct on either shoulder

Kibo: hardheaded with ice and inactive

but my body is hot and bothered and pressured

Molten moments create wanton waves

that at last flip the lid and it all spills out

leaving countrysides and towns languishing in lava

with the sun's answer as to why concealed in billowing ash

***

You'll view this on TV in a faraway land when my

caldera's collapsed further and I'm half a day dormant

Black History

I am descended from pharaohs

I am wild but royal from the chin up

I slept in the shadows of pyramids

I spent a sleepless night swirling in a Sea of Reeds

I was sold by my fellow man into foreign familiarity

***

Spent sleepless days parting seas of cotton and cane

Dogs at my heels

Sleepwalked for freedom through locust-plagued darkness

Dogs at my heels

Spent summer days cool as hoses parted my clothes

Dogs at my heels

Marched for freedom with my fellow man on the Mall

Dogs at my heels

***

Wild, royal, chin up, crawling success' pyramid

Looking eastward to Egypt's ancient wonders in ruin

Each effort as ephemeral as the last  

Writing on the Wall

One black man's essence plastered in pure white

like the pillars of prominence that preceded him

One black man's tireless gaze towards the east

where the sun shares a new promise per day—

illuminating the Tidal Basin's tepid pool—part

mystique part memory and part morgue for fallen

and forgotten cherry blossoms drowned deep

like dreams deferred—waiting and wishing upon

the wisdom of the stars that see through the frost

a germinal generation ready to spring forth....

Remains of the Day

Sunshine soothes winter

weary twigs after day's rain

Sparkling droplets dive

with Olympic form

towards mirrored pools shining

like golden medals

Wilderness

Old day fades

and a new darkness fills my room

While an unknown pleasure

surrounds

my prostrate body

in 5.1 ways

White lines pulsate

from my belly as

Ian Curtis emerges front and center

His shadow plays tricks

on the crowd as he

dead fly dances on the stage

Hook, Sumner and Morris

restore the old order

of melancholic rocking rhythm

Shearing my sinews

leaving them waving

detaching muscle from bone

creating another bloody disconnect

Curtis breaths into my open sores:

I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand

Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man?

These sensations barely interest me for another day

I've got the spirit; lose the feeling – take the shock away.

Suddenly he falls ill again

He twists as Hook turns again

He writhes as Sumner riffs again

He drops like Morris' sticks again

His epileptic episode is my episode of tears

Too many years spent in the wilderness

Too much truth fallen in the shadows

Too few bother to look there

Another bloody disconnect