Legend Baby (2007) (R?)

Legend Baby (2007)

With lost soft hugs
lost pressing kisses
bear hugs,
Melissa is lost
has left me to be
haunted by ghosts
of guilt, of soul
I deny:
J’accuse my dear
you fooled me
against my nature

Oh Melissa, you
cried upon a star,
told me and the night sky
I was the father though
you had many lovers

Because the baby girl made
a lollipop microphone
I knew she’d be a star
a legend in her twinkle,
no end to promise

You were a mother
who watched bear legend TV, liked bears,
believed every myth seen
as cuteness lied and misled. Earnestly I

warned against them.
Listening to me in jest
smiling at me instead
you said
the wild child laughs. I kissed
the one who chuckles,
your baby luck
the one you suckled, but
you are at an end to sanity
your daughter lost
to your foolish love of all.

I changed baby’s diaper once,
watched her take a first step,
a father sharing labors.

But I was fine, I thought
’twasn’t mine in the end, and
though your daughter cried
I would not bare faced cry
for didn’t I say with logic base:
do not feed the bears,
not flour
not flowers
not porridge.
Hungry bears eat babies.

Listening to me in jest
smiling at me instead
the baby was left alone. That’s why

you could not stop screaming
clawing the tree
scratching your own face, why you
threw the empty baby carriage into the river,
childless

Fathers don’t let bears eat their children,
not the one read
“Goldilocks and the Bears” to sleep, but

if this is my dead baby
I will cry tomorrow.
If I were to believe
this baby were mine
I’d be as crazy as you, Melissa.

They were beautiful
and the woods are ugly.
Melissa’s baby, her Myth, and
my feelings are dead
to drift in my fog hiding
howling vain creatures
biting and sucking to leach
the guilt I deny, but
creature forgive me;
give me back my blood
my guilt, before death
makes me ghostly
too pale to love Melissa again.

— Douglas Gilbert

They Are Taking My Baby (Draft 1)

They Are Taking My Baby (Draft 1)

They are taking my baby away
because he has Neanderthal genes

Yes I know as a surrogate
I signed something
but I love him

They extracted some
Neanderthal DNA
from ancient bones
and were so ecstatic about
rejuvenating history that
they thought that
genes were more important
than the growing of love

I love him
and don’t care
what genes make him not my baby

Never will I give him up
even if I agreed to
a mad experiment

I don’t care at all
about science

I love him.

— Douglas Gilbert

Who Is Human

Who Is Human (Draft 1)

Whoa, hold on just a second:
this is no trivial thing

Analysis of genomes says
there was sex between
the pompous “modern” humans
Neanderthals, Denisovans, and
beautiful babies were born

Did you not say that
a “species” was defined by
anyone able to interbreed
and produce fertile babies

Did you not say that
a subspecies was
synonymous with “race”.

We Neanderthal
demand an apology
because if we
are of your species
then we are
of equal intelligence on average
and as a subspecies or race
we potentially are sapiens

Beyond the many ancient wars
some of our lovers and protesters
were wise

It is you who were war-like
and unloving

If we interbred with you
who call yourself wise
it was from love
and not from war

We are a subspecies
of Homo Sapiens sapiens
and so our Neanderthal race
will now celebrate
our place in history
as struggling wise wanderers.

— Douglas Gilbert

If You’re Going Off (Revised) (R8+ )

If Your Going Off (Revised)

If You’re Going Off

Have you flown on
like a feather in a whisper?
Maybe you’ve gone off.

But you can’t go off without me
’cause don’t we always go off together

Don’t we go wild together
celebrate the unity laugh
fall onto a stunt mattress

If you’ve gone away,
if you’ve gone astray

tell me that you’ll be careful
remember we’re substantial
in silly ways with safety nets

Stunt woman,
if you’ve gone to seek a beach,
take the care road to the shells
and toe in the water to

listen for an ocean sound, but
if there’d be rain, let it be musical:
a pitter-clap and applause.

If be there sun
let it not burn though

if there be fog
let the fog horn be
triumphant like a fanfare, but

I’m not sure what do about the grasshoppers —
maybe chocolate.
(not sure if grasshoppers like chocolate)

For every whisper, a breeze;
for every breeze, a sail;
for every sail, a ship;
for every ship, a destination.

For a destination
me and a tickle,
and a last jump, because

I don’t want you to fall
into anyone but me
when I’m real soft and cushy

— Douglas Gilbert

Unicorn (Revised)

Unicorn(revised) (R7+ )

The last of the unicorns, she is mourning corny
and the myth of herself, looking at the protrusion
that would seem so merely Cyranoian, but she
without sword stirs half a lemon
in a tea brewed with tendrils of
boiling horniness and musical mist

She yearns to scream a redeemed love
full throated with soothing lozenge
that is a little sour treat with fickle silliness,
yearns to leap in circles like
there is no tale end and as if
her fickle tail catches star-giggles that
circulate like the blood of the universe
so that, with abandon and freedom
all could take heart and throb
like we could trumpet a mist
and flower like a noisy bouquet
on the horns of symphony

The last of the unicorns, she is stirring,
composing a tale with her tail

in the night sky
a horn

— Douglas Gilbert

After September 11th (Revised from “After”) (R7+ )

After September 11th (revised from “After”)

After,
a little girl carried an umbrella
everyday to the school with the dust,
a hardhat found a restaurant menu
and an unopened package of children’s bibs

After fallen jumper cables,
cables, beams, jumpers, bodies
heat and fire, fallen
firefighters, police, hardhats,
lady’s hat with feathers
pearls

After,
an orphan, a widow, and
for son and daughter
mother and father
friend
the end of them
in dust, in vapor
crushed
everyone

A little girl carries an umbrella to school
on a sunny day, every day —
she is afraid. Once

her mother had taken her home from school
through a crowd of silent strangers in a dust storm
and no one knew what to say, but
she went to her room
to play with her dolls
her mother looking sad, staying silent
more than a moment of silence

and the bells ring
waterfalls collect tears
after

Will an umbrella work
after

hats, scarves, pearls, feathers
war is declared on a pearl

— Douglas Gilbert

Alice’s Euro Dream (Draft 2)

Alice’s Euro Dream (Draft 2) (R7+ )

Alice’s Euro Dream

by “Alice”

Impressed in my dreams
pressing matters,
stamens of red saffron
pressings of oil and olive trees,
a message from Archemedes
who indeed, though hard to see,
ran from Marathon to Brussels
and popped out of a cake.

He was chewing mast gum
from the island of Chios
made a wise crack proposal:

“Let us escape a faux pas, and have
no hurry to a Massacre-Euro decline
twilight glow of the drachma, so

let my people build into your billing benign
an olive-oil pipeline, many gods willing.”

With steel pipe and pumps pleasing
it progressed through Greece very well, just

shooting along Albania new
under the sea to the Boot, but
then a nasty dispute:

Italy wanted an expanded pipeline
made of tubular pasta renewable
to carry cannolis and a tomato paste –
a mere steel pipeline through Italy
just would not do.

They built a pipeline
made of fried pasta,
all the way to
Brussels Belgium with
so much at stake, but

before it could be turned on
nearly everyone along the way
ate it.

— Douglas Gilbert