Poems published in The Dance of the Peacock
My poems appear in The Dance of the Peacock (2013):
CLAY DREAMS
They make my face
ugly in my own sight
what shall I see in the mirror?
there is no beauty
or holiness left
in the naked nation:
the streams flow dark
and the hinges of doors moan
politics of corruption
I weep for its names
and the faces they deface
with clay dreams
DEAD OR ALIVE
My shrinking body
even if I donate
what's there for research?
devil in the spine
abusing tongue in sleep
or bleeding anus
defy all prayers
on bed or in temple--
the same heresy
oozing and stinking
onanist excursion
dead or alive
I CAN SURVIVE
I've outlived
the winter's allergies
and depressing rains
in a human zoo
I can live
my retirement too
without pension and medicare:
the wheelchair doesn't frighten
I can live
uncared and unknown
survive broken home
the numbness of the arms
the pain in the neck
and inflation too
VULGARITY
What is there to relish in heaven
if the vulgarity of relationship haunts
even after retiring from earth?
the loose threads of yearning criss-cross memory
I can still feel the river's twisted flow
toward lower reaches, exhausted and stripteased
the nudity of moon and stars is beyond touch
who cares I evolve or end like them
suspended from a plane I can hardly reach?
LIBERATION
Away from home in academics
sex philosophy and religion
I've been skeptic about all these years
revels of hell in lost memories
couldn't be a new dialect for spring
turn nude with refreshing orgasm
I still wander in my mind with fire
but no heat or light, sterile emotion
routs the spirit to live making
all presences dark and absence
fears are no bread from heaven
nor unfilled emptiness any sky
yet the eagle flies with wide eyes
nose opened to stinking patches
the mud- and ghostscapes that yield
mandate for dreams wrapped in nightmares:
I live preying for liberation
and decay with divinity
They make my face
ugly in my own sight
what shall I see in the mirror?
there is no beauty
or holiness left
in the naked nation:
the streams flow dark
and the hinges of doors moan
politics of corruption
I weep for its names
and the faces they deface
with clay dreams
DEAD OR ALIVE
My shrinking body
even if I donate
what's there for research?
devil in the spine
abusing tongue in sleep
or bleeding anus
defy all prayers
on bed or in temple--
the same heresy
oozing and stinking
onanist excursion
dead or alive
I CAN SURVIVE
I've outlived
the winter's allergies
and depressing rains
in a human zoo
I can live
my retirement too
without pension and medicare:
the wheelchair doesn't frighten
I can live
uncared and unknown
survive broken home
the numbness of the arms
the pain in the neck
and inflation too
VULGARITY
What is there to relish in heaven
if the vulgarity of relationship haunts
even after retiring from earth?
the loose threads of yearning criss-cross memory
I can still feel the river's twisted flow
toward lower reaches, exhausted and stripteased
the nudity of moon and stars is beyond touch
who cares I evolve or end like them
suspended from a plane I can hardly reach?
LIBERATION
Away from home in academics
sex philosophy and religion
I've been skeptic about all these years
revels of hell in lost memories
couldn't be a new dialect for spring
turn nude with refreshing orgasm
I still wander in my mind with fire
but no heat or light, sterile emotion
routs the spirit to live making
all presences dark and absence
fears are no bread from heaven
nor unfilled emptiness any sky
yet the eagle flies with wide eyes
nose opened to stinking patches
the mud- and ghostscapes that yield
mandate for dreams wrapped in nightmares:
I live preying for liberation
and decay with divinity
Published from: Hidden
Book Press, 109 Bayshore Road, Brighton, Ontario, Canada,
K0K 1H0
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