Tag Archives: strength

Weak Blood

The blood that courses through my veins
has been diluted. I can sense
its former potency at times:
remembering my father’s strength,
my great-grand sire’s blind wandering
(which was itself a pale claret
compared to further back in time
when his ancestors sought freedom
in the New World, alone and broke),
the continents and oceans crossed
in times of war, in famine’s peace,
must have required more courage,
gumption, even, than I now possess.

Your plasma, too, is watered down:
in veins passed down from one who preached
the merits of peyote worship
to the Great White Father in the East,
and made the exodus, on foot,
from Canada’s Acadia
down to the Deep South’s draining heat.

How weak the strain our genes might mix:
like royal hemophiliacs,
or hypochondriac offspring
that dare not risk a paper cut,
or need a day of rest to cure
a sniffle, or a broken nail.

21 JUL 2005

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A Path of Wildness

I chose to walk a path of wildness;
though these modern city streets are paved
and seem to revel in a blindness
that believes the urban sprawl has saved
us from what nature could remind us:

somewhere beneath all this black and gray,
behind the masks that progress may wear
as it fumbles through lines of a play
it has not written, and does not care
to find meaning in what those words say,

there is an rough edge to our control.
Beyond that border the feral earth,
that patient presses diamonds from coal,
in each single instant gives birth
to the strange chaos that feeds our souls.

Where the sidewalk ends and turns to vine
is never clearly marked on a chart;
and your map is not the same as mine,
even if we would pretend to start
from the same place at an exact time.

What’s more, both paths may appear the same
(if anyone still took time to look)
and like gods often bearing false names
to confuse those who insist on books,
will merge at times; they are not to blame.

Instead, it is our pride that deceives;
we do not seek to balance, but rule,
and as a despot king we believe
our road divine, and others for fools
unfit to share the glory we perceive.

But it is there; the wildness can’t be tamed,
nor trimmed and manicured for too long
before it tires of such polite games
and flexes its muscles, lean and strong,
to escape the gilded picture frame.

I would go after, where it now stalks
amidst the dark, thickened underbrush;
sometimes just at dawn I hear it walk
right under my open window. Hush!
Can you hear it too? It likes my block.

18 FEB 2005

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Sleep on, new world — your time is yet
to come; and in that pall of death, forget
what was, what is, or merely seems,
and build the future from your dreams.

Sleep on, mankind, rebuild your strength;
prostrate, laid on your bed full length,
dream of new heroes still unborn
in slumber’s womb yet safe and warm.

Sleep on, green growth, in winter’s hold;
for soon Spring comes to melt the cold
and bitter snow that buries deep
the germinating soul in sleep.

Sleep on, and dream of things to come,
and rest your weary, busied tongues
replete with words that bite and bruise.
When waking comes, they are no use.

Sleep on, new world, and wake evolved;
for weary, you’ll no problems solve
while you sit restless, bleary-eyed,
consuming yourself from inside.

Sleep on, sleep on in stupor’s gauze,
and from your labors, rest and pause;
the universe will still be here
when you awaken, fresh and clear.

Sleep on, mankind, and stay your hand
from constant schemes and endless plans;
and let what is, and was, and seems
emerge to clarify your dreams.

17 MAY 2004

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