Poetry from various classes and times of my life…
Redemption
Just stop, For a minute. Please redefine, Re-explain, Reintroduce This gift to me. For ten Long Years All I knew was An eye for an eye. Hate meets hate. Forget me nots were Forget me, knots in My belly, so empty. So excuse me, If I am cautious. Excuse my… hesitation. ‘Cause this forgiveness you speak of? It’s a distant foreign relation. And redemption? Sounds absurd. What have I to be redeemed? And my soul? What a word. Never such importance deemed. But continue anyway, I feel these words are true. For restoration, from hesitation, feels fresh as morning dew. So please relay what you’ve to say, It’s warmth and strength will make me gay, Ha! Gay – a term, so lost to me, Until your might hath set me free. So I will take this freedom here, To make a life, to understand – sheer Wisdom, brilliance, patience too, And love I have received from you.
The Body Good
Milk. It does the body good. But what good is the body when the calf weeps formulated milk ducts from the scientist’s teat. Lick those lips of perspirated celebrity icons and Sink those hips into celebrated 2% liquids. But what of the lips, shut in closed quarters, Those wordless mouths gone from their mothers, Taken at birth. For nothing here is natural, No. Capital with a capital C is the master. No freedom, no harmony. See that smiling cow on your two-gallon jug? Ever wonder how it’s doing now With six machines plugged into Six long forgotten motherly instincts? Factories. That’s what’s become Of long gone dreams of father and son Working the plow with mother in the barn house Milking the cow. But now: Daughter’s at the Apple Computer checking out an Efficiency in the city. Mother’s milking her moment of silence before Son comes home from university, The next proud owner of father’s duplicity. Happy Cow Industry, the joke of the century Where young calves sit in silence and Only Grandpa remembers what it means to do the body good.
Ocean Spray
She sang to me the other day, A song so sweet and true. And I sang back, I let her know That I was bringing you. To see the beauty and hear the rush And feel the mist of water brush As fresh as morning dew. So when I let the sweet caress Of freedom from the heaven blessed You must remember to wonder, lest, Her breath will not be true.
