Morning sounds

The sun is new sun after the cloud
Of a recent sorrow touched a belly.

Sorrow confuses like the rain moth
Embracing death on windowpanes.

Morning sounds are confusing too
When they are indistinct mumbles

About gods living in clouds eating
Confused prayers to keep us fixed.


An old brown poem

Awaking is moving away from bliss
Sleeping on dreams of not awaking.

City drags itself awake on subways,
An old black poet’s poetry awaking.

Here are no subways to awake a sun
Just cattle filled roads swishing tails

Late night drivers bleary with sleep,
An old brown poet’s poem awaking.

(Referring to Maya Angelow’s poem Awaking in New York)

A sonnet outside grass

Grasshopper lands on my computer
On its arthritic stick legs, jelly inside

Leaking a bit below wobbling knees.
It is typing a sonnet on my keyboard

A leak makes fourteen lines so hard.
Keystrokes are hard outside of grass.

We replace kneecaps a surgeon says
Sadly ,we do not have old raindrops.

(Taking off on one of the stories from The Arthritic Grass-hopper by Gisel Prassinos)

The oil lamp

We hold still as if we hold an oil lamp
Through a darkness of the unfamiliar.

Lamp sits before us with warm bread
That brightens up a dark inner palate

And its yellow light colors the dance-
A girl dance swirls in yellow moment.

The drum tries to catch the liquid girl
To be lamp-lit pearl- drop under leaf

Night sheds in the winter of our time,
Leaf slowly falling its yellow moment.