power
power
the middle-aged men
consumed by their taste for power
suck the color out of each scene
each scarlet hibiscus = antivenom
undoing the drain of girls and beer
meanwhile I watch the smooth pewter waves
trying to go flat as glass
straining to tell them something
those lost boys don’t yet know
the power of submission
of turning their bodies
to catch the divine breath
that still would blow them toward
the Happy Isles
or the relief of unclenching their fists
from the executioner’s staff
and refusing to torture
one more soul
J0KIES O 2OI9
highlight the black block to find the answer
Where do sheep go in the winter
the bahhhhhamas
Danau Toba Dream
Danau Toba Dream
the lake shushes us to sleep
a sweet sloppy sighing lullaby
the whole black-blue basin jiggles
while this big world spins
another dark night streaked with
columns of staccato horizontal
dock- and boat-lines
and the unseen air is as heavy
with smoke and water
as a Varanasi ghat
mimpi indah, Samosir
the river grows
the river grows
at lunch the friendly waiter explains
in a month from now
when the rains come
water will cover
all these rocks
we murmur in surprise
sit placidly on the same rocks
after our meal
retire to our room
and then the rain starts
slow at first
uneven pings that could be monkeys
then the usual short steady afternoon shower
then it changes, drives down in pounding lines
the whole scene a gray blur of
air displaced by water
shingles shoot past the open woven window
and the stream beside the lodge
becomes a chocolate surge
it pounds on like this all afternoon
until I wonder
what’s a cyclone like?
then I remember to check the river –
the rocks are gone, a month early
each one washed by
the galloping white waves studding
thick brown ropes of river
racing away from the rain
bringing the mountain down with it
Thanks to Cedar for helping to type this one up!
Feminist Fashion Police Strike Again
Cedar commissioned this poem.
Feminist Fashion Police Strike Again
the irony
the terrible mistakes made
in the making, selling, wearing of this t-shirt:
“AFRAID TO MAKE MISTAKES”
bold white letters on a red ground with a smattering of blue stars
evoking America
the worst part is that it’s not worn by some silly little slip of a girl
she’s a middle-aged woman
in a sensible headscarf
out with friends
on the river trail
the best part is
that my 9-year-old boy is horrified
wants to tell her to dare
wants to show her the mother-of-pearl insight
inside failure’s ugly oyster
wants to hold her hand
to help her be braver
like he held mine
after the bat’s wings brushed my arm.