Dawn

I have gone out at dawn,
Walking these deserted streets alone,
with a patience....on my way,And I'm on my way......
To the edge of living.
Where moons and flowers still bloom
in a cold garden.

CatsKill, New York

Who was there to see?
From which saddened field, my friend?
Was it you? Was it you then,my windyfriend?
Was it you who witnessed the burning
end of this assault?Was it you then?
Who leaned into the breeze
Heavy with hurricanes and lightning?

Just a thought

I've been thinking about quiting this whole writing thing, but is that possible? I've never been one to go coldturkey on anything, but my chickens beat(poetic aly spreken?) my minds fatigued.
I'm thinking of leaving it off for a couple of months. spend most of the time reading someone else's work. Billy Collins, Charles Simic, bukowski, eliot, of course, neruda lorca shakespeare E.Pound...etc.etc.'s

Puerto Rican Anthem

...Our fathers drank together,
Our brothers cursed and fought.
Our mothers danced together
A sleepy time in waltz.
Their laughter broke the moon in two.
Their anger burnt the sun...
and all is good,all is good,Yes,
all of that is good my brother...

Haunting Love

Haunting Love. Huntress of Dark Desires.ThereIn the gathering twilight. MoonlightBreathing blue.The end comes suddenly. Dead among blossoming Flowers. Post Mordumb madnesslives to be still-born. A mother's grief.Pain of creations desired desire to be creative.Modern Matrinomy. Terribly wounded, shadowy Singing sisters pray.Charming melody of seaside girls
Decked in silky blood redDresses weeping wailing weary Maid-of-honors.Seas.
Smiles Of mourning women.Good Idea he had of it Mr JoyceSays.
Smart idea, certainly so," Marry in May and repent in December"Long and short of it.
And one nightThey'll bring you the legOf a duck." and soLife limps on....Befitting storm clouds gather Above his head.Pleasing as anything to seaCottony clouds of vengeance.
"When did ye return?" Emily askedIndifferently thinking"... Dick is sin..."Emily in fading blue denim jeans,In the arms of her lover, broadArmed Mr.CollinsThere in the land of the deadJust 'round th'way, and he" I've returned just last week" GreyHound bus from ReadingTo Penn Station...asleeping...Were you waiting long?"Thinks" The splendor of travelling cheap!"To himself thinking"Sweet taste of her ovaries"Wearing moonblue shoes newIn a striped suit splintering at the seamsForsaken In silence,Silent in cruelty.

Dancers in the Graveyard

The moon watches the boy sleep ,andsees his soul reflected in the burning eyes of the sun.It was an impossible dream really.And the vagabonds were singing softlyThe blue lullabies of The Bronx.As that wild untamed band of outcastTrobadours slept so peacefullyBeneath a bridge crossing the East River.Dancers in the graveyard sing a songand the Lovers on the lawn sing along"We shot your God! We shot your God..."And the angels didn't have their wingson at all."CauseYour God's a dog!lyinglike a knife in the red'snot sharp at all,and the dogs not fedshot up and full of lead...
...Dead and gone and full of lead...

Shut the blinds

My eyes are closed as I shut the blinds, and I sleepand dream of a thought that Ikeep heated under the sheets when my mind wakes up surprised and groggy wit ether. And I'm feeling fine as I survivenine to five beat up and easily cheated.When Iwake upto find that I 've survived crazy nightslips and fightsfist and love hips and eyes spinning,equaly bleeding.