April 16, 2013

NaPoWriMo 2013 # 16...

photo by Kevin Bauman ©

another love story (for Boston)

say, would any of you spare some dimes
for a brother down on his luck

chances are
nothing will matter
if I let myself bleed out
to go the way whispers
carry messages through eons

windy knives
remembering names
as long as a rock
can holds itself
against erosion

I might only need
a mirror, warm ripe passion
mere flesh, a harvest opportunity
I have taken a path through the perilous fight
I watch the ramparts tear flesh from bones
I leave the scattered, remnants of my humanity alone
I scrape together enough shock to watch television broadcasts
I fireside chat with ghosts walking for words to find
I silently capture my scurried thoughts behind veneers
behind my distraught faces mouthing who, why, with what aim
is this world leaning toward no second chances, all blame
is there no remorse, no way around ratcheting up violence
as the universal language replacing love

why do I pine for love
why do I thirst for it
why do I dig for it
why do I build for it
why do I hope and pray for it
why do I write and paint words for it
why do I dance for it
why do I eat with smiles and clang glasses for it
why do I seek its solace in me, when I am a broken desperate for it
why do I knead its algorithms into my memories, rising its heartbeats
why do I seek a salvation of time when art hits the nail on the head
why do I key stone arch myself against the Sun
why do I still want to know if I am human
why do I still want to know if need for love
comes without words or images or the articulated sculptures
of the mechanical world that mimics my movements
why do I still want to know if being lost is eternity outside love's embrace
why do I run these races, a rabbit in warrens, quarreling to be
another secular vision or faith revised, triumphantly claiming inherency
why do I want to know how to cool down, humanity on fire
am I part machine
why do I want know if I am on fire too
am I capable of burning everything down
why do I only want to feel rain, sometimes
why do I know there is not a throne that can salve this empty
why are there fewer warm homes to go to
why then, when all else fails
is welcoming folks in and out
of my life
the only poem
the only home
the only thing
that matters
to me

EJR ©                            


  1. This is beautiful and I wouldn't ask why - love and the people who wander both in and out of your life are the only things that really matter.

  2. Beautiful tribute... And a lot more than that.

  3. The passion behind this poem infuses every line, every plea, every question. Why, why, why? Strong stuff in response to yet another senseless act of violence.

  4. I asked myself the same thing too, why ~

    I specially like this part:

    windy knives
    remembering names
    as long as a rock
    can holds itself
    against erosion