What tribe will have you dance its folk lore
Anyhow you wish and still call you right
Like poetry would do with words for sure,
Misspelling and not punctuating left and right?
You married the spouse and planted the trees,
Amassed the wealth and ensured the health,
Won over the law and gained with the fees;
Even books don’t give the freedom of a poet.
THE FUNERAL OF ICE
The making of he who is
Has origins in the air he is.
Made in secret, carried about.
Revealed openly, in and out.
Gathered in the skies high,
To roam as mist up high.
It bursts the banks it fills
And cracks downwards to fill.
The hardening effect of frost;
Granite and so harsh a host,
Conquers the whole land
So that air can’t lend a hand.
Mightily the season comes
When the diamond becomes
Water again and it all ends;
Melting into a liquid that fends.
Your rights start where mine stops
Or is that, stops where mine starts?
When we both make the golden rule tops,
Then we greatly succeed in our mutual acts.
We have seen rights cross and overlap
With such ease and care not deliberate,
Not like the water traveling to my tap
Or as simple as the thought words I ate.
This air you bought across a counter
Comes to me all free, if not as pure.
Your noise carries across an encounter.
My displeasure for it, I seek to cure.
What efforts I put in to ensure that
Where you messed up mine doesn’t sit
Can just end your right where it start
And start mine off without a care for it.
They get set, ready and go.
To where? God only will know.
Revolting round earthly tracks
Which knows not their tasks.
Their quests are not visible
Or even humanly sensible.
Competing with complexions,
Hairs, noses and eyes in nations.
What wins these long races
That recognizes their faces,
Will not justify the future;
For races aren’t their nature.
You are only young once,
Blossomed to take your chance;
To scent the world’s spring
With the fruit kinds you bring
Two birds perch on a tree;
One a he, the other a she.
Like any such human couple,
They couple into love’s trouble.
They take off into the sky,
Together dancing as they fly.
Like the early romance,
So full of sweet substance.
Returning to a common nest
Gives stability, if not rest.
Like marriage does at a stage,
With emotions and with age.
When they’re off in the sky,
In opposite singles they fly.
Like your everyday spouses;
Submerged in life’s sauces,
Then one bird perches alone,
Anyone of the birds on its own.
Like any spouse takes its turn
To wait the other’s solo run.
When the other bird is back,
With a petal tuck in its beak;
Like its partner it will find
Its affection swallows its kind.
HEART DIES LAST
Where is life? If you may ask;
Not numbed by faith’s old task.
Is it with living body or wise mind,
In fountained heart or soul to find?