On The Flyleaf of Collected Poems
The House is demolished now
A parking lot occupies the space
The second floor has vanished
Into thin air where I once had
The delusion of soul floating
Outside of my body, and then
Pausing to watch if I would
Somehow recover from the
Fevers which haunted my flesh;
After observing my predicament,
Like a newly minted physician
My soul rejoined my flesh and
Promised never to depart again.
Such was the sensation that day
That I wondered who would
Believe what had just taken place?
On The Flyleaf of Musical Events
Mostly when I shower these days
I am reminded of Carol Berge, not
Lasciviously, but because she
Demanded such clear, and precisely
Clean ligaments in each line of
Poetry or piece of prose: meaning
Without dross; absolute metaphor
That strengthened your walk without
Being didactic and unpretentious:
The song of a bird in the wild where
A single breath heralds the ease of
Night and day. She was attentive
To the skeleton, the attachments
Which hold the bones to muscles,
And builds the architecture of arteries
And veins around the structure
So that all the melodies housed
In the body are safe. Now, as the
Rinse water floods my skin and
Drains effectively away from
My head, limbs, torso, legs,
Crotch, ankles and toes and are
Refreshed in cleanliness and
Prepared, naturally,
to greet the perceptive world.
On The Flyleaf of The Blacker The Berry
For: Edith
who kept her eyes on the prize
The old white woman is eighty now,
She realizes no one was ever civil to her
When she came for a cool drink of water
At a Southern soda fountain, nor was she
Welcomed to register any of her colored
Neighbors because they were not qualified.
A hurricane of memories floods through
Four decades of her celluloid history,
A time when she had agility and the
Quickness of a minute hand. Now her
Calcified bones restrict her actions.
She no longer leaps like a gazelle from
Option, to idea, to cause. She can only
Projects her tears toward some final good.
On The Flyleaf of The Master Letters
Do not smile often; we do not laugh often
Unless we see something or someone who
Has not appropriated what we might term
A modest standard of beauty which invokes
Stares, and slight laughter even though we
Know this is an impolite action which may
Result in an indiscrete death for bad manners.
Absolute courtesy needs to be learned before
Such incidents happen, for one parent might
Think your own mother should, as a matter
Of course, have equipped you better for polite
Society with delicate manners before allowing
You, her only child, to venture forth into the
Larger world causing severe and most vitally
Destructive and unnecessary harm.
On The Flyleaf of Swan’s Island
Invincibly determined, like those distant planets set in their predestined orbits,
Revolving incessantly and consistently around each other.
Grafted on to each other like the steel of last breaths,
Demonstrating how acts should be done with small effective gestures.
First, forbid all execution with wild iron tears black people used to exude at
Baptist funerals. Time has made inquiry into how long the flesh can sustain
Forbearance. Still, physicians will only answer in vague terms: Nothing
Is accurate. Does he mean nothing as in: clocks, blenders, trash compactors, cars,
lawn mowers, motor cycles, airplanes or simply the human heart?
Perhaps he is still trying to do no harm.
So when death is accomplished
The act of shedding considerate tears publically or privately may be released
If they will do no harm. There will be no one to direct on how to mourn
The cold resplendency of life. Death is a reasoned passing.
Take care to finalize all the necessary details.
Let surrounded friends recall the delicate stories of your life.
Let all the myths and legends be placed side by side
In an undistinguished war of true and false.
There is only so much one can do in arranging final details:
Watch a fire being extinguished, wait for a hurricane to subside,
Wait for the debris in a tornado to settle, then move into the clear
Silence and wait for another spring to approach.
The House is demolished now
A parking lot occupies the space
The second floor has vanished
Into thin air where I once had
The delusion of soul floating
Outside of my body, and then
Pausing to watch if I would
Somehow recover from the
Fevers which haunted my flesh;
After observing my predicament,
Like a newly minted physician
My soul rejoined my flesh and
Promised never to depart again.
Such was the sensation that day
That I wondered who would
Believe what had just taken place?
On The Flyleaf of Musical Events
Mostly when I shower these days
I am reminded of Carol Berge, not
Lasciviously, but because she
Demanded such clear, and precisely
Clean ligaments in each line of
Poetry or piece of prose: meaning
Without dross; absolute metaphor
That strengthened your walk without
Being didactic and unpretentious:
The song of a bird in the wild where
A single breath heralds the ease of
Night and day. She was attentive
To the skeleton, the attachments
Which hold the bones to muscles,
And builds the architecture of arteries
And veins around the structure
So that all the melodies housed
In the body are safe. Now, as the
Rinse water floods my skin and
Drains effectively away from
My head, limbs, torso, legs,
Crotch, ankles and toes and are
Refreshed in cleanliness and
Prepared, naturally,
to greet the perceptive world.
On The Flyleaf of The Blacker The Berry
For: Edith
who kept her eyes on the prize
The old white woman is eighty now,
She realizes no one was ever civil to her
When she came for a cool drink of water
At a Southern soda fountain, nor was she
Welcomed to register any of her colored
Neighbors because they were not qualified.
A hurricane of memories floods through
Four decades of her celluloid history,
A time when she had agility and the
Quickness of a minute hand. Now her
Calcified bones restrict her actions.
She no longer leaps like a gazelle from
Option, to idea, to cause. She can only
Projects her tears toward some final good.
On The Flyleaf of The Master Letters
Do not smile often; we do not laugh often
Unless we see something or someone who
Has not appropriated what we might term
A modest standard of beauty which invokes
Stares, and slight laughter even though we
Know this is an impolite action which may
Result in an indiscrete death for bad manners.
Absolute courtesy needs to be learned before
Such incidents happen, for one parent might
Think your own mother should, as a matter
Of course, have equipped you better for polite
Society with delicate manners before allowing
You, her only child, to venture forth into the
Larger world causing severe and most vitally
Destructive and unnecessary harm.
On The Flyleaf of Swan’s Island
Invincibly determined, like those distant planets set in their predestined orbits,
Revolving incessantly and consistently around each other.
Grafted on to each other like the steel of last breaths,
Demonstrating how acts should be done with small effective gestures.
First, forbid all execution with wild iron tears black people used to exude at
Baptist funerals. Time has made inquiry into how long the flesh can sustain
Forbearance. Still, physicians will only answer in vague terms: Nothing
Is accurate. Does he mean nothing as in: clocks, blenders, trash compactors, cars,
lawn mowers, motor cycles, airplanes or simply the human heart?
Perhaps he is still trying to do no harm.
So when death is accomplished
The act of shedding considerate tears publically or privately may be released
If they will do no harm. There will be no one to direct on how to mourn
The cold resplendency of life. Death is a reasoned passing.
Take care to finalize all the necessary details.
Let surrounded friends recall the delicate stories of your life.
Let all the myths and legends be placed side by side
In an undistinguished war of true and false.
There is only so much one can do in arranging final details:
Watch a fire being extinguished, wait for a hurricane to subside,
Wait for the debris in a tornado to settle, then move into the clear
Silence and wait for another spring to approach.
