Capture it Now

So many of those things
we must care to capture
before, as we've been told,
they escape--something to do with
the nature of ideas--and we'll
never again find them, or if we do,
we will as with the same palate
that took us there in the first place.

But I need to tell somebody now,
tell myself, reminder, about the day
I could have done what I'm doing now
but something I knew
dared me on, and I cowered,
perhaps not that exactly, but
I looked down then inward
and felt the small teeth of caution:
so while I'm feeling horrible
about this or that not yet accomplished
I have known too that accomplishment
that happens in public view
is not always a reflection of the failure within.

So many things, so many things:
and I hear some of you whispering:
Tell us, tells us now...
and laughing, I will pick satchel,
walk one or two steps before
I tell myself to face it....

Beyond Guesses

After a while they look at you
and tell you who you are
and you smile, because that's what you do best
and nod, leaving them to believe
that's what you are--
and now it doesn't matter
because you confirmed it,
made it easier
for another group to guess
and not even bother to ask
if what they have heard you are
is really what they should see
when they too look at you.

KEY TO MY HEART

KEY TO MY HEART

Who stands at my heart's door and knocks?
Knuckles raw
Serenades me,
Promising the sun, moon
All the stars.
My name
A sweet song
On his lips that quiver
With a love induced drunkenness.
A current runs down his spine,
He wants a part of me;
Who has spanned a lifetime
Searching to find a self
Eventually found in an emotional quagmire,
I will not trust a stranger
With my jewel.
Tell the mouse
The key to my heart
Hangs with the bell round the cat's neck.

Socialia

Some people are just sores;
so you walk around
avoiding bruises, even on days like this
when what should matter
is that the zondos--
some call them mazondo--
are cooking....

And further down the hour,
we will be gathered,again
chatting and chewing: surprising someone;
and every now and then,someone mentions
country, culture, coughing,
until we return to the sores,
by the time we've counted
eight empty Mondavis, sometimes Gallos.

Before long, it's good-bye,
especially if not much good is left
in this oppressive Sacramento heat.

The Vestiges

Something about the best there is
grabs and twists your insides
and you want to call Mai
even where no shadow exists
of what we could call devices;

First, there are those
luxiriating in the idea...
then dreams becomes nightmare,
and you wake up with a headache,
only there is that which drives
the idea of the best
which becomes a shame
when you turn and others say,
"Let's see."

Then the memory of shoots
Once in Mototi budding, but blooms delaying
until years later, carrying the weight
of the sky, we dreamt of burn-darkened
ends of what could have been blooms....

Something in talking about the best,
when even the worst would detest contests....
So you stand, sit, stand,
and the laughter you hear
is of hope turned clownish
where once we sat and told stories
we now roll, like donkeys,
in the ash insignificance....
but the whistle you hear,
those are the vestiges....

Smile & Send

If you are like me
Today you are sending,
and Mukoma, looking down
will smile--exactly something
he would have done, no questions.
I am sending....

You can't do things otherwise;
pound the asphalt of adamance
turn away not to return,
even when you see reason not to.
Remember there are smiles,

and there is sending.
Hearts' doors can't just shut
and locks click to ward off the obvious
that often hides, until you open your mouth;

Sing about this day
of dents, but remember the panel-beater
of time, chance, fate even;
so then smile and tear velcro.

There are lines sometimes
where you go to send,
and remember this time
you will hold the line
and invite angry grunts,
but only if they knew
how proud Mukoma would be
looking down from where he is
because all he would have needed
was a short notice to know
that it was time to smile
and send, to end solitude
and begin a new chapter.

WAITING

Skeletal beings

Eyes bulging out

Bony arms

And legs,

Milky white teeth

Gaze unblinking

Into the distance..

No appetite for food

For sex,

For life itself.

They are waiting to die.

Bodies disease ridden,

Bitter hearts,

Angry hearts,

Sometimes just resignation.

Where is hope?

Where is love?

They are waiting to die.

There are men,

Women, children

In varying stages of degradation.

All going one direction.

Is there hope

Beyond the grave?

Is there life on yonder?

They are waiting to die..

It is "the big one

With a small name"

The scourge of Africa.

Unbridled lusts

Incubating death

In nations loins..

They are waiting to die

Unwilling passengers

At the last bus-stop.

Ticket paid in blood,

In advance...

They will all get on the bus.

Though some will linger...

They are waiting to die

06/01/05