Thursday Poem

Sign Language For the man who jumped out in front of the woman with his arm raised like a machete screaming Abomination! as she walked the streets of San Francisco holding her lover’s hand for the first time in public. There is a woman who goes to sleep every night wishing she had broken your…

Wednesday Poem

At the Museum But in 2500 B.C. Harappa, who cast in bronze a servant girl? No one keeps records of soldiers and slaves. The sculptor knew this, polishing the ache off her fingers stiff from washing the walls and scrubbing the floors, from stirring the meat and the crushed asafoetida in the bitter gourd. But…

Tuesday Poem

Call and Answer Tell me why it is we don’t lift our voices these days And cry over what is happening. Have you noticed The plans are made for Iraq and the ice cap is melting? I say to myself: “Go on, cry. What’s the sense Of being an adult and having no voice? Cry…

Monday Poem

“… but who / ………….. drinks / from a mirage” ……………………………………. —poet, Sonia Bueno Hard to Say but we do: vital hallucinations on driving a coast road  new day blinding sea calm sequined motion stiletto horizon running its blade south north .. far      . ……………………………………………. far off ……………………. we swing through bends on asphalt swells top down and suddenly…

Sunday Poem

Israeli Patrols Kill 90 Dogs in Arab Town …. —The New York Times, April 14, 1995 Mother, I’m living in sin with an Egyptian Jew raised in Paris. We stroll in Central Park. Her mutt, Gaulois, off the leash. How lucky he is not in Hebron where gods kill dogs for sport. by Rafiq Kathwari…

Saturday Poem

The Difficult Word The oaks reluctantly let their leaves fall, And hesitatingly allow their branches to be bare; And the bear spends all winter in separation. The beauty of marriage is such that it dissolves All earlier unions, and leads man and wife To walk together on the road of separation. It’s a difficult word.…

Thursday Poem

Blossom What is a wound but a flower dying on its descent to the earth, bag of scent filled with war, forest, torches, some trouble that befell now over and done. A wound is a fire sinking into itself. The tinder serves only so long, the log holds on and still it gives up, collapses…

Wednesday Poem

Civilization Those are the people who do complicated things. they’ll grab us by the thousands and put us to work. World’s going to hell, with all these villages and trails. Wild duck flocks aren’t what they used to be. Aurochs grow rare. Fetch me my feathers and amber * A small cricket on the typescript…

Tuesday Poem

Beyond the Night beyond the night night guided onwards by boatman and lamp of distant stars wall niche {river mirror of thirst / broken / in movement un / expected / they know each other but who /                                                     drinks / from a mirage} by Sonia Bueno from: Aral publisher: Amargord, Madrid, 2016 Más Allá de…

Sunday Poem

The Light Gatherer When you were small, your cupped palms each held a candleworth under the skin, enough light to begin,                                 and as you grew, light gathered in you, two clear raindrops in your eyes,                                warm pearls, shy, in the lobes of your ears, even always the light of a smile after your…

Saturday Poem

At the Back of Progress The fellow who sits in the air-conditioned office  is the one who in his youth raped  a dozen or so young girls,  and, at cocktail parties, is secretly stricken with lust, fastening his eyes on lovelies’ bellybuttons.  In five-star hotels,  he tries out his different sexual tastes with a variety…

Friday Poem

In Heaven No dog chained to a spike in a yard of dying grass like the dogs I grew up with, starving, overfed, punched in the face by children, no children, no firecrackers slipped down the long throats of bottles in the first days of summer, no sky exploding, no blood, no bones because we…

Thursday Poem

. Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in the grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn’t make any sense. . Jelaluddin Rumi (1207-1273) from A Book of Luminous Things Harcourt (Harvest…

Wednesday Poem

Boats in Fog Sports and gallantries, the stage, the arts, the antics of dancers, The exuberant voices of music, Have charm for children but lack nobility; it is bitter … earnestness That makes beauty; the mind Knows, grown adult. …………………………….. A sudden fog-drift muffled the ocean, A throbbing of engines moved in it, At length,…

Tuesday Poem

On Driving Home from the Dream Workshop That play is over,  and we are in the tiring house  changing costumes,  putting on the masks  of our usual lives.   . Yet sometimes, when we listen to the voice  riding through our lips,  we hear something different,  a deeper timbre, perhaps,  or a new word. .…