Best Attentions Poems
The intimacy of knowing your body
as well as I know my own…
The unspoken permission
to touch with my hands,
to feel with my lips,
my tongue,
to move upon and explore
the most secret of places,
witness the most intimate functions.
Your salty sweat is delicious,
your saliva is like fine wine.
Each pale hair that covers you
deserves attention and devotion.
I want to taste the words
that spill from your lips as you speak,
taste the flavor of my name on your mouth.
I want to crawl inside of you,
as if you had a uterus
and it could be the womb
where I suck my thumb,
secure and safe.
To know you as intimately as I know myself,
and to peek in at your thoughts…
to seek and find that hidden place
where your soul resides!
I would that I could lay seige
to the shelter that succors your naked,
vulnerable soul…
and live there with you,
hold you in my arms for eternity.
Unworthy one cent coins
Make up the consuming world
Unworthy coarse sand under your feet
Makes up the wonderful garden
Unworthy sweating manual workers
Make up the manpower
Unworthy short minutes
Make up the precious lifetime
Unworthy strenuous struggling
Makes up the patience to win
Everyone and everything will have their values
And may deserve
our respects or attentions
An indoor showroom for
Invaluable art pieces
To attract your attentions
To the beauty of nature
Or your admirations
To the beauty of creations of men
Maybe for the eyes only
But no bargains
But pah; I don't think she's the woman you think you married..
She called you a blaggard, she stood in sunday church and spoke
you as a scondrel and satan: mentioning your lack of concern for her.
She bragged about finding it funny that your horse went missing
durning the same time the Merchants son came around with Beef
for sale, He gave it to us for free as i fecked him several times in the
saball."Gobe" he spoke of mi husband and became offended
and fecked his brother in spite. After I became pregant I came back
to mi Hubby to trick him into a night of romping and a good feck..
I'll make mi decision on staying when the little one is born. She told
the on listeners to pray for her as she had fallen of the wagon and got knocked up
in spite of her Hubby. He is in the running for who the Father is"
"Pray for me Ya'll!"
Durning the service
she stood again anwsering what was the difference between a Dog and a Dug.
"She anwsered a Dog is a companion a Dug is a person working near or in a hole
that uses his assitance to convey his needs as he works in the hole or tunnel"
The poreacher asked her to use the words both in a sentence and she did.
Well she said, I was lonley so I patted the dog on the back and took him out on a leash for a walk.
And Dug: she said whill digging the outhouse hole I stood by my man in case he need help if the hole collapes. I was his dug and was proud of it!. That was Feol Chapail we had for dinner? Naw Pah it was horsemeat!
—after a remark attributed to Albert Einstein—
There are convictions hid beneath the skin
of every ordinary afternoon, whose proofs
arrive before the intellect can rise
to crown them with its late authority. Thus once
I watched a father, bearing broth upstairs,
halt midway where a child's thin coughing broke
the architecture of his practised tread;
one hand still held the bowl, the other reached
as though the stair itself required a pulse.
The soup grew cold. No ordinance was lost.
Yet something in the house had altered weight.
The mason laying stone while thinking still
of yesterday erects another wall
than he whose whole consent descends through wrist
into the waiting weight. The orchard knows
which hand arrived entire. The apple keeps
a season no inspection ever finds.
I saw two lovers at a crossing once.
The city's engines gathered in their throats;
red brake-lamps flowered beneath a lowering rain.
He bent to meet her mouth. Yet all the while
his glance kept reckonings with passing steel,
with painted lanes, with mirrors and with haste.
She smiled; perhaps she never marked the theft.
The kiss came back with less of itself in it,
like rain returning from a roof of slate.
The organist whose fingers found each chord
while counting hidden debts awakened wood,
but something left before the anthem breathed.
I know that absence. Many nights my own
guitar received obedient hands alone.
No string accused me. Still, one listening note
remained outside the music all evening,
as though the room had lent it other work.
The hawk descends with every feather sworn.
The river reaches sea without debate.
No flame consults another element.
Then something entered for which sight possessed
no elder tense.
Two candles stood apart.
Neither declined, nor leaned, nor touched the air.
Yet after they were lit, the darker one
began to cast the brighter one's shadow.
Nothing thereafter seemed to keep its name.
Years later I passed that same crossing.
Rain gathered where the traffic used to wait.
Upon the rail, one swallow settled first.
The second circled twice, then folded all
its sky into the space beside the first.
Neither of them looked anywhere else.