spotlit poem . . . bearings

Originally posted on a blind catch in the sun:
bearings after Litany by Billy Collins You bore yourself in us and we, we quite forget ourselves we claim to see just where You are not you wait always to be found You have been in so many places dawns, dew, bread, wine, even pine-scented air…

Plight

Originally posted on a blind catch in the sun:
Is it vulgar, to gambol, on both sidesof a sacred marriage? Not one thing or the other.There is a smell of spring and a smell of winter,the sound of a party and a wedding altercation. I’m unsure I’m invited to either. Small inside my puff pastry…

little man (new poem)

asked to forgive what you didn’t understand
no one does no one gets it
the black land of grief . . .

VII (’19)

Originally posted on a blind catch in the sun:
it’s obvious that i must turn to love which brings a question — where to go which brings a question in itself solution sighted – on we go! ——— there must be an angel sitting nearunseen holding dear all that we are letting go careless carriers…

damsel (new poem)

a double tap triple tragedy on repeat
dance peasant dance to the bullets at your feet
el diablo plays the world of men
laughing from the clouds the day you face him
dreams ridden true for your contempt
he’s mixed-up sex, power, gender, sin
now fetch his feast, my pleasant wench

A. H (1st February 2021)

a deep warm burnt orange (poem)

the smell of baking bread in a loved one’s farmhouse kitchen
welcome – rich – holding promise
perhaps a rusk as when we’re small
it sounds a silent gong like the sun at dawn
watches patient – speaks in light
it will always be
waiting to be found

A. H (20th February 2021)

to boot

he brogued my ballet slipper reverie
how my tongue lolled
hot hot hot
that mocassin fall summer . . .

history repeating

in childhood i was often quiet
they told me i was patient – good
as gold, teacher’s pet, the prof, swat
honestly i didn’t know my standards
like Ginger Rogers equipped for going back
i had to take the lead, Miss without her heels
but is it even this, . . .

comparative history

my patient temple crashed to the ground
around the time we swam at Areopolis
and further south then flew back
bloodhound sick to Athens . . .

orienteer

come, pass with me
toward true direction
pick up my pace
understand my measure

A.H (6th October 2020)

xxviii (’20)

she’s arrived bent at this snapshot of her golden hour
her flame still whispering to the loves she flowers
captured for a moment as only what she represents
not the meanings she carries gold in heart
another grandmother from the fringes
. . .