Thursday, February 20, 2014

Notes from a lanky old man

Hear, O' Wind, the distant hammer
ricocheting from hill to hill
its agony
silenced by a rising fog

Hear, dear brother, the autumn song
the frail voice that soothes
a dusty meadow: man had started fire
playing with flint-stones

Brothers have lost flesh & bones
in war
the lonely hammer beats overhead:
Is this the Order, is this the Law,

Where have all the flowers gone?

[ In memory of Pete Seeger ]


There's no complain in her eye. Night
fades out: she remains a stone and so do I.
Leafing through the daily pages I'm hooked
to the picture of a frigid Niagra. Cold seeps in
through my slippers and my armchair was never
less warm. The tea, my only sip of luxury, tastes
tedious.I consider telling you "Honey, this is not
a man flu!" But how do you enter a home without
being invited? - A dog scowls nearby.

I recall the tall claims made by certain "logists"
who reassured rebirth of embers
in silent rain.

Yet the camp fire is the only glow.
We watch the dance of flames: shadows grow
and shrink back to our dimension. Darkness settles in
between the stars.Morning sweeps away the ashes
leaving us in the ice-age under a future-less sky.

Valentine Day poem


i wish you could hear me
amid the rattle of the pushcart
selling fresh sugarcane juice
for you i preserve
nectar from my wound


i wish you could hold me
as softly as you place
white roses upon my grave
i'd drench myself in the rain
of your nearness


how many galaxies
have i traversed alone
how many autumns
decayed on your patio
how long must our dreams burn
without giving birth
to a planet
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