YOU IN ME I woke up to my If I dress to seek you You haunt me with I am out to find you — Douglas Gilbert
longing for you; coffee
bit my dream
I stirred your cream
will I know where
passion gallivants
your many haunts. I
feel a phantom kiss
and miss the bliss from
flesh and ardor, belief bones
troubles massaged in a love whisper,
soothing music
melodic compassion
driven like the mating birds;
walking, I hear the coos
but let them fly unknowing
for I have a gift for us:
wait ’til you
see me smile
everywhere I know you
Archive for March, 2009
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “You In Me”
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “My Poem For Mommy Steno”
MY POEM FOR MOMMY STENO Mommy, a Lady’s writing Mommy don’t let me cry too much. I didn’t mean to be mean Didn’t want to make you Mommy, I’ll let him Has he gone to Heaven? Foster people say Mommy, forgive me. Mommy, don’t let me cry too much. My poem. Is it good, Mommy? Lady don’t cry. Make it good? Ok? (fiction) by Douglas Gilbert
big hand for me with commas.
Did you write me down, and
everything? Ok. Here goes:
No wait a second. Ok, umm
to Daddy when he yelled
go to jail
touch my breast again
if they’ll let you out
from jail
you’re trash
Didn’t want you to kill Dad.
Make it pretty on good paper.
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “Baking Apples”
Baking Apples Wind storms through orchards She hasn’t stopped singing I will learn the mockingbird song I will storm home — Douglas Gilbert
mocking calm branches
left a bird frantic,
fruit on the ground
this mockingbird
who mocks the calm, my thoughts
seems searching for a perch
a mate, perhaps, like I
seek Cindy, yes
before the next storm, so birdie luck
will perch a finger, and
like the shocking bird,
my Cindy electric and flighty
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “Sauntering”
Sauntering Snow walk She dazes my daydream Snow overall to crunch Her tickle thoughts An inner sky I’m coming. Soon a touch A bird is amused, I sing, — Douglas Gilbert
branching reverie
missing her
suffuses the day
will not defeat
laugh me
warm walking
a leaf
a scarf
blue calm.
being her
will giggle me all over
chirps
flying home
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “Drowning Memories”
Drowning Memories For you again I can not stand I told them Help her. — Douglas Gilbert
my river eyes:
over the banks
your memories
overflow the sob plains
my cheeks,
half-masted lids
stream thoughted,
unthroated scream
a murmur on salted lip corner
nor swim away.
A waterfall would
swallow me
if ever I would sleep
to see you drown
under
beyond entreaties
me,
again
the heavens
Olympic Torch Version 5: “The Many Cousins of Complicity”
The Many Cousins Of Complicity Arrest warrant for Omar Hassan al-Bashir She has been there. Returned. Her many years wasted, home retell the tale of tails wagging: cousins driven on edges Delia travelled by Sudan, just wanted Janjaweed’s fleeing victims She, a peacekeeper Slaughters on memory pause Bad news through Khartoum – Melamine* from China Don’t they eat dogs in China She is insulted, Oil for China is of utmost importance Delia tells her husband Her Mother is from Panama, Darfur intrudes: Maybe, safety in Chad, Leave me alone, she screams, Your Mother had Not now, Cousin Jinyan Not now. Get us Her Hubby told me hearing the torch would She’s worried from monks in the teahouse – mad Han hegemony awry Molly doubts the torch is coming. Odd call I’m confused, heard Odd call home. She She seems to know Tibet Not a Westerner Speaks of forty days and forty nights Odd call home. She will not peruse the news She’s singing sweetly Seems she News of spring colors and flights. In China No calls, Tell me if a llama died greeting Molly of Lhasa nothing seems changed except that *Melamine, a chemical derived from coal was found in pet food that killed dogs and cats. It is used in China as a make-believe protein that has no nutritional value. See: “In China, Additive To Animals’ Food Is An Open Secret,” New York Times, April 30, 2007, pp. A1, A8, by David Barboza and Alexei Barrionuevo. “Poisoned Toothpaste in Panama Is Believed to Be From China,” New York Times, May 19, 2007, p.A3 “2 Activists Are Under House Arrest and Barred From Leaving China,” New York Times, May 19, 2007, p. A3. “At Shuttered Gateway to Tibet, Unrest Simmers Against Chinese Rule,” New York Times, March 26,2008. p. A7. “50 Years After Revolt, Clampdown on Tibetans” by Edward Wong, New York Times, March 5, 2009, pp. 1, A10. — Douglas Gilbert
unenforceable on Khartoum
that fears not. Sudan looms.
from Sudan, an unvarnished 2008
Olympic Ticket, framed, fractured
glass covered in the blood of
her optimism drained from
her, like a lamb in the mouth
of a lion like Omar
coifed mane, lounging,
a gray demonist under hat, and
she, cousin Delia,
clings to souvenirs; I
my three cousins, fallen
of cynicism, bravely
continued to pass
the torch of
symbolism
a UN worker who
to survive her gambit
into humanitarianism,
come home intact
to her husband, see
the Olympics as
honored guest, perhaps
but
stopped in a camp
for a chat
listened for awhile
to tales of genocide
from refugees of Darfur
too starved to indulge grief for
the dignitary just yet,
a Darfur drudgery one
asked why Delia cried
Delia’s child watching cartoons
sent e-mail that
the dog died
supporter of Sudan
did the canine in
the Darfur woman of dead child says
has lost her appetite for politics
and a veto of sanctions.
Khartoum is happy, and
flies in weapons
for the final solution,
but politely, because diplomacy
to China, market dream
for every company
drooling over
billions of customers
who has a distant cousin
with Chinese roots
to, for God’s sake,
be discreet
hates her husband’s
(as she imagines it)
asian eyes, though
he speaks fluent Spanish
(Chinese, English, Tagalog),
quite a bungee linguist is he
“Will UN troops
protect us”,
a woman wants to know.
Srbrenica she thinks
to herself, but won’t
dare say
she demurs, but
even here
another message for her
I’m doing good work
cough medicine,
diethylene glycol
from China
it says,
a minor counterfeit
resulting in death
I’m doing good work
is under house arrest
for protest
tickets for
2008 Summer Games
she’s not to worry –
sending flowers,
has tickets, but
travel through Tibet,
I called cousin Molly
the Tibetan trapped in China
called home to Aba
Sichuan Province, China
to hear the brooding
many dead in Tibet, from Lhasa
protests spreading
with soldiers and
agent provocateurs
uniforms and robes
plainclothes
Thinks runners in Peru.
home. She sells
Buddhist statues still,
swears she doesn’t know
the Dalai Lama
she wants to
go to Peru
speaks in riddles.
is not Peru
she’s a Tibetan, yet
with biblical aspirations
140 dead, and
it seems she seeks
to go to Peru
from Lhasa,
or even Aba
or Luhuo.
Sichuan food for thought.
on the phone in English
an old Irish song,
“cockles and mussels
are dead in Peru.”
An odd call is this. Arresting…
might be going to
a re-education camp for torture
to learn spelling and about
Szechuan Restaurants in Peru
Aba green with
a flood of soldiers.
Whirlybirds hover.
she sells
Buddhist statues still
with cockles and mussels
alive in Peru
merry or odd. I
wonder
how is Peru?
on the high road
sweet and narrow
in spirit alive
with a torch
and a ticket to heaven,
tell me because
Delia, Jinyan, and I are
dead to the world
without faith
without witnesses.
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “What I Want”
What I Want I want to be new. —Douglas Gilbert
I want to be heard, not
herding the sheep of others
to be slaughtered
for the common nourishment
sustained by the dogs of containment
of war
barking at a moon
whose tides are
unknown by the feral
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “Spinach”
Spinach I don’t grimace at the spinach anymore I’ve lost my kid’s taste —Douglas Gilbert
since I tried a taste of
what you like
being your tongue
savoring many flavors of you
to try with you anew
your trusted leaf
in a book of nuance
where a sour pucker
turns into sweet lips
sounding pitches
thrown high and low
down dancing waves
undulating
with ripple effects
of affection that
taste me too,
clusters of fun with
a little mustard on my hot dog
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “Harangue”
Harangue Wild dancer, —Douglas Gilbert
the merengue
butt of a joke, she
shakes her fertile
crescent idea
her hope moon
rising in cloudy wisps,
a meringue froth that
whisks away the doubts, for
she hears no harangue,
but whispers
of success
Short Stuff by Douglas Gilbert, “Still Rapid”
Still Rapid For me I flushed, a Tincture of joy upon my skin Vitamin delight I made We kissed our meal —Douglas Gilbert
cheeky glow on me, when
I heard her
laughing in my heart
her oxygen in my
hemoglobin sanguine
I touched her touch like lunch
of peppers and cherry ducks
in a row of charms
easy to cast as
fruit falling ripe
after blossoms bloom
floating on her river
tanning, burning in her light
to drink the day
a splash of love
in rapids