My backyard is brown and long,
Asphalt laden, like wanton rivers
Never meeting, never parallel.
Filth and a black dog
Befriending each another
For an incursion
To be together!
I have so many colors
In my palette,
As does God have up above
A rainbow palette
Yet why did he choose
Brown, grey and a wannabe black
To paint my backyard
All so slack!
And today the clouds
Are snoring
Like prisoners who have had a fill,
Nowhere to go, nothing to do
Not even moving a bit of their fat asses.
Only to make my backyard look
Veiled by viscous molasses!
If life has been spoken of
My backyard is yet deaf,
Sam spake of ‘stagnant waters’
I see that in pools here.
Its guide dead or lost
In the arms of a burly rosy woman,
In some old and brimming tavern!
Oh backyard, oh winds
Oh black dog, oh stranger,
Walking near the bins
Oh whosoever is up there,
Listen to the pleas of the rains, listen to the squeals of the cranes.
'Coz me and my baby
Blue eyed and chubby
Are waiting in the balcony
To throw ourselves and hug the green
And forget that we once were preened
To be pristine queens.
For do we look like dolls of clay?!
That you only could everyday,
Care for just
Arthur’s and John’s play!
When the weather brings the best of the poetry out of us and we waiting for the other time will never what this time held for us and yet we wish to capture the metaphor of this waiting. so that we slowly approach that time and how this time writes through us, some lines are really wonderful and exotic while others take you to what writes of what longs to be written...so there are sparks of words, sparks of weather, sparks of your self, sparks of poetry and sparks of the wonderful mix through which life itself seeks us....nice to see many sparks at the same time
ReplyDeleteexcuse me for my convoluted thoughts....but really enjoyed reading it, just felt about the rains and the aromas and the longing associated with it all :)