And when, in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent song goes unanswered,
andI mount the scabbed streets,
the long shouts of avenues,
and tunnel sunken night in search of you...
That I negotiate fog, bituminous
rain rining like teeth into the beggar's tin,
or two men jackaling a third in some alley
weirdly lit by a couch on fire, that I
Some thought she had slipped, the plank
glazed slick with ice, or maybe
already cold beyond care,
drowsy and weary, bare feet
tempting a creekbed's promise
of sleep, though she struggled out,
her trail a handprint of stars
rising toward a dazzle of white
where sun and snow met. They found
her homespun dress, underclothes,
I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice,
An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice!
I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed,
For, when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said,
Mother tells me "Happy dreams!" and takes away the light,
An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night!
Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door,
Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor;
Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round
'Does the blackened ruin, situated in the stony ground between Durraj and Mutathallam, which did not speak to me, when addressed, belong to the abode of Ummi Awfa?
'And is it her dwelling at the two stony meadows, seeming as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews of the wrist?
'The wild cows and the white deer are wandering about there, one herd behind the other, while their young are springing up from every lying-down place.
'I stood again near it, (the encampment of the tribe of Awfa,) after an absence of twenty years, and with some efforts, I know her abode again after thinking awhile.
'I recognized the three stones blackened by fire at the place where the kettle used to be placed at night, and the trench round the encampment, which had not burst, like the source of a pool.
Now up and down the siding brown
The great black crows are flyin',
And down below the spur, I know,
Another 'milker's' dyin';
The crops have withered from the ground,
The tank's clay bed is glarin',
But from my heart no tear nor sound,
For I have gone past carin' --
Past worryin' or carin',
Past feelin' aught or carin';
Be a father to me
place a hand on my head
keep me rooted, my mind
Oh father, why won’t you let me levitate?
I understand that you are distant
for me to grow above you
but please, that searing shield you carry,
put it down.
Embrace me warmly
Threatened blue world.
Rich earth's in His hands,
But, why such disrespect?
I have a hard time at Christmas…
It triggers many memories of old…
Like the time I caught my dad…
‘Just trying on mom’s dress’ as I was told…
He had been drinking the eggnog…
Since sometime earlier in the day…
Then he started singing Broadway show tunes…
Dancing and acting all happy and gay…
In my earliest days of butterscotch sunshine,
To possess a new bike was my deepest wish,
So I asked it of my father one Christmastime,
Launching a childish memory which I cherish!
My dad promised, and he ever kept his word,
In the hopscotch days of skies sapphire blue.
Joy awaited on Christmas Day, ere we stirred,
As the first dream I ever dreamed came true!
Navy blue shirt with khaki pants
The air around you is like deep water
Rectangular glasses on the ridge of your nose
Sleeves rolled up and your watch ticking loudly
I’m the mirror you look into
You talk on and on and stir my brain
All while sipping on strongly brewed tea
Your faded eyes brim with insight