I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.
They lend open-air vegetable stands
historical grandeur, and gently swing
with an air of festive welcome.
I can hear them talking in the wind,
haggard, yellowing, crisp, rasping
tongues of old men, licking the breeze.
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
Oh yes, friend! I'm crazy-
that's just the way I am.
I see sounds,
I hear sights,
I taste smells,
I touch not heaven but things from the underworld,
things people do not believe exist,
You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Until you yourself are breathing that way
With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.
That's hours later. The sun is a red blister
Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong,
Young, not yet the broken chair
Ring around crimson roses
butterscotch sun comes around
lavishing mellow yellows upon
lifestyles on the ground
clouds on lake drifting
in the rose forever days
silver glide, geese sun
in puff clouds swimming
until the soaking downpour
red blooms cried for joy
companion of night
in the epoch of gold stars
lily reddest red
just green steps from my back door
moonlight on the floor
in the silence of shadows
Green and red apples
flowers in a ruby vase
Hues shout in stillness
and sweetest blooms, richest red
capture the laziest eye.
in the hushed art museum
where the colors dream
Life frozen in a moment
wild birds are gliding
in the crimson dimension
of sunset on sea
sly stars are twinkling
through treetops along the shore
dark curtains will fall
in the twilight hour
there'll be songs to sunset moon