The Rustic Crusts of Manna
Davie J Walker
I am the one who stripped the
Sponsor from my jersey
And the number meaning nothing
But an identity recorded in a dry book
Making me invisible to the
Odd gods of your reality
You speak my own language
In ways that defy life or death
Or the direction of the Sun's path
In the aftermath of its
Examination with the
Illusions of reality strewn in the
Branches of Stone Pine on the
Appian Way to Rome
Here we may pick our own
Venders of the streets
And eat the sweet ideal on
The rustic crusts of manna
It is here that we should speak freely
For who will interpret our intentions
From separate graves
Categories:
appian, allegory, faith,
Form: Rhyme
Joplin was to Southern Comfort,
what Hendrix was to smack
Morrison was to masquerade,
what Dylan never lacks
Woodstock was to 69,’
what music was to rhyme
Saigon was to those who stayed,
what Auschwitz now reminds
Kennedy was to hopes and dreams,
what nightmares were to some
Castro was to leftist thugs,
what cymbals are to drums
Kissinger was to Nixon
an Appian Way to roam
Dr. King to civil rights,
what kings are to their thrones
Walter Cronkite was to news,
what context was to fact
Altar boys were to their Priests,
what pretzels are to snacks
58,000 were to die,
what a wall was to proclaim
58,000 were to all
—what conscience is to shame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
Categories:
appian, memorial,
Form: Rhyme
(The Appian Way was the main highway leading south
from ancient Rome. It still exists today, and is a beautiful
stretch of peaceful, traffic-free road, surrounded by Roman
tombs and umbrella pines. The following is my English
version of a sonnet by the Italian poet, Alfonso Gatto.)
Night everlasting scurries to the trees
in silence. Cold, the roadway mourns its dead,
who lie in these green verges. Sounds have fled
through air which is harmonious, at ease.
As dawn comes up, the far blue Alban Hills
swim into view through slender cypresses,
and water gurgles in its sad recesses.
Sweet place to sleep, despite the morning chills.
Here, breathe in the sweep of history.
Just ponder who has passed along these stones!
The white wind thrumming from the Tyrrhenian Sea
blows dry from Africa, exposing bones
of senators and slaves. This sacred ground
feels special, with so many dead around.
Categories:
appian, history,
Form: Sonnet
Rolling beyond the oblivion
Reaching over the horizon
Mile upon mile of paved way
Sees me drive off and away
The wheels spin tirelessly around
Allowing me to glide over the open lands
Across fields and prairies without bounds
On a highway of four wide and mighty lanes
And as the cool breeze parted at my face
As I sped forward in both night and day
In rain, storm, fog, shine or seasonal grace
I felt forever grateful for this Appian Way!
All rights released into Public Domain
Categories:
appian, adventure, allusion, beauty, car,
Form: Quatrain
i stood over looking
the general view
of the bath of caracalla
evading sudatorium seduction
the church of st. cesarea
in palatio captured my thoughts
rather quickly i entered
sarcphagus of lucius scipio barbatus
dazed i was gently lifted
hovering above columbarium
of villa codini ah my human sufferage
unleashed near the arch of drusus
i found myself kneeling
beyond the gate of st. sebastian
how i'd remembered
the findings of the church
of domine quo vadis
welcoming of monks settled
deeply within catacombs
of st. callistus the fine
chapel of cornelius
the bishop winks at the sight
of cecilia's remains hisses of trickery
a covenant maderno's manner
lessons and arrows embedded
amids sebastians sculpture
ravished by greif
for giorgetti's finali catacombs
and tombs surrounding
my morbid energy force
abruptly backing right into
circus of mexentius shouting
metella metella open
the appian way
seneca's revealed
the tower of selce in ruins
Categories:
appian, devotion,
Form: Classicism
venice seemed a bit
moving today i'd wondered
over genova's coast
hardly a peek over masone's
entrance father was beneath himself
filled with bitter rage
it appeared my fetish for clark's
trouser's boosted family morale
i'd covered this endless romance
several months now
keeping watch over
my grandmother's
crest of identity a sullen logo
that read milan descending
aimously into corleone valley
weathered so cringing almost
with thee farewell findings
omerta standing in view
silence emerged an yet
i could only whisper his name
within this tiny village how different
we were how divided on appian way
our ancestor's balanced seperation
segrgation among italian
hemesphrere who am i now
thee darkest bella
red pellerosa apo new york
Categories:
appian, beautiful,
Form: Ballade
I must have marched the Appian Way
in triumph, for I hear the drums again,
and I am called by stouter hearts
to march among the men
who make their peace with death
and breathe it in the fight,
as seeping blood might feed
their lust through the exploding night.
I want to feel the shiver on my spine
when cannon steel
tears into quivering flesh
before white flags might interfere
and steal what now is mine.
Oh yes, I tremble too
when sallow men negotiate.
I will have none of that.
I want to be a patriot
before it is too late.
Lord, make for me an enemy
that I can love to hate.
~
Categories:
appian, satire,
Form: Free verse
My Roman Ruins
you are my rome,
all roads lead home to you
the ruins of my destruction
on the rounding patchy earthen grounds
strown with stiff marble columns
that have long ago cracked and crumbled
and into several broken pieces
by the hand of a violent man
signs of the holy catholic trinity
stand everywhere
yet there's no holy space
where I find the comfort that I need
to rest my weary head
bleached bones and skulls
with sullen hollow spaces
hide in deep tunnels under the ground
continue to haunt me in my sleep
as the towering roman aquaducts
remind me of the mighty powers
that fell from grace years ago
the via appian way spreads
far and wide to many places
destroying forces that
blocked their armies way
on it's broken bricked path
I trod through my sunny days
and my dark loney nights
yet no matter how hard I fight
to move my sandled feet far away from you
my warped brain keeps
directing it's seizing waves to
cherished memories of your
youthful tanned roman face
Categories:
appian, lost loveme,
Form: Free verse
my roman ruins
you are my rome,
all roads lead home to you
the ruins of my destruction
on the rounding patchy earthen grounds
strewn with stiff marble columns
that have long ago cracked and crumbled
and into several broken pieces
by the hand of a violent man
signs of the holy catholic trinity
stand everywhere
yet there's no holy space
where I find the comfort that I need
to rest my weary head
bleached bones and skulls
with sullen hollow spaces
hide in deep tunnels under the ground
continue to haunt me in my sleep
as the towering roman aqueducts
remind me of the mighty powers
that fell from grace years ago
the via appian way spreads
far and wide to many places
destroying forces that
blocked their armies way
on its broken bricked path
I trod through my sunny days
and my dark lonely nights
yet no matter how hard I fight
to move my sandaled
feet far away from you
my warped brain keeps
directing it's seizing waves to
cherished memories of your
youthful tanned roman face
Categories:
appian, lost loveme,
Form: I do not know?