In Dreams

This is my interpretation of a Bop poem. The style was created by Afaa Michael Weaver during a Cave Canem summer retreat. This Bop’s refrain comes from James Blake’s song “Our Love Comes Back” The accompanying music is composed by Jean-Michel Bernard from my favorite movie of all time, The Science of Sleep. Hope you enjoy.

The Legend of Black Ice

Ice is all there was for miles
In every direction
Far enough, though, through squinted eyes,

one could see a tower there
A small city out that way
tufts of smoke hanging over

Buildings and things

Maybe sending signals
Or just doing what they do

Day by day, unaware of her.

Men would come - on journeys
Unworthy - unknowingly unworthy - stay a day

then go, leaving their heavy behind

with her

Black ice, they began to call her
for the elusiveness

the uncertainty and the way

her eyes could chill,
Evaporate salty sweat beads
And pull a frosty puff of
sour breath from their shivering lips

cut their feet out from beneath them, so quickly

And all they could do to keep

from hitting the ground was reach out eager arms,

sink a cool head into her bosom.

  

                              14 Jan '14

Nice Guys

I see you, clear as the Negril waters, where, once, I took a nap and awoke floating far beyond the safety buoys. I panic. Then and now.

I see your face, dark like the soil in my father’s herb garden – seasoned, rich with a promise to sustain. I am walking away, but waiting to see if you’ll grab my wrist and shake some sense into my gin-soggy, hipster-chasing one-track mind.

I sit too quickly when you pull out my chair. I blame you with my eyes, cutting. From the floor, I contemplate taking your hand that is outstretched and reaching for me.

When you lay your wool, fitted sportsjacket over mud puddles, I pretend not to see it and, avoiding it, step, then, fall – deep - into a hole that I cannot seem to pull myself out of. Ever.

                                   Dec '13
  

dining in the dark

i take it in, slowly

small bites, as to not aggravate

my cavities, too long unattended

still, like mounds sludging

down a conveyor belt, i can feel

it all making its way down

i feel heavy inside.

it’ll pass, i tell myself

this feeling, it’ll pass

then, another bite, bigger now

because i think i can handle it, endure

as I’m meant to.

                             nov 2013

Lighter Always in Dream

         And the question was posed,

then silence. To open my mouth seemed hollow

and when I did, my tongue refused to stir.

My eyes, instead, did the work.

And no one knew quite how to respond.

Though, I could hear them thinking        

         she’s from the future

I swirled in the deduction

Without making a sound

Towards the door

Through a portal

And into the open air - a field where the cool

blades graze my ankles

Long into dreams

About

Simplicity

and order

and I am

quick

Stripped down,

Unencumbered.

                                             2013

Swamp Music

                      for that boy, in that band

There’s a tingling riff
somewhere in that second verse
and suddenly I’m

knock-kneed, in that base
line bumping your thump thumping
here, in the corner at the café

where I do my morning steep,
sweeten and sip oh         so         slow

still, a burn on my
tongue – unsassuageable like
that night in the swamplands…

thirsty whiskey eyes,
your fingertips, the chasm
they just wouldn’t jump

steel-string rugged – graze over
these honey-rubbed, dark-rum thighs

for as long as your
conscience allows you to endulge

you could reach the other side
or drop down deep, far from home

Either way there’s no
chance of you landing up right

you ought to just jump
across fast and with purpose.

                 2013 ("Groupies" revised)

Haikus on the Esplanade

Ode to Horchata in 2 Parts

On bloodied feet, I’d

walk the esplanade ‘til dawn

to find Horchata

y a través de

inundación o fuegos

yo correría

It Would Be Xabi Alonso’s Beard

If I could choose one

thing to rub ‘gainst my face for

all eternity

Alicantino Bomberos on their Morning Jog

Glistening sunbathed thighs

 They are a pack of gazelles

I covet then pounce.

Centenary Ficus

Smooth roots above ground

Crisscrossing into little

Cubbyholes for birds