Short Rosewood Poems

my puppy and wolves
cat - tiger, rosewood n rose
gourd and large melon
I and master poet  Basho  
same genetic family
	
contest entry for Tanka poems
by Amy Green...

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there was a woodsman that lived in rosewood
approached a nymph sleeping in underwood
a gambler loved by the bards
sat down with a deck of cards
with sleight of hands lost his axe, boots and hood

4/11/2018...

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Heat on the door, windows airless,
    Obsessive heat.
Inching blandness in sorrow soaked.
Prism of light spearing through our town
Filled with hope.
A lingering ghost stays on.
Hungry repetition, happened, been and gone.
So slowly, interest fading 
To a daylight breaking
For that moment,
By a candle bare,
On rosewood eyes you shine....

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And one fine day into your hands
I'll place your special gift
You picked it out, she was your choice
Possession then will shift 

She's got six strings, she plays real nice
Spruce top, the rest rosewood
Sunburst, glossy, beautiful 
On you she'll wear so good 

Her sound is deep and resonant
And all who hear will look
They'll see the perfect couple there
My Bluebird with her Brooke...

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Tonight I drink the ruby wine
of God’s sublime name
my rosewood mala dangling
alluringly over my fingers
each bead calling Him
each sip of His precious
name a holy grail
a divine elixir
brewed in Heaven’s
vineyard


Drunk on a love
that the world can never
understand
I sing His name
and dance through the
moonlit streets  
with Ramakrishna, Mira Bai
and all the crazy
God intoxicated Saints...

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April rains over my body
like a dripping faucet at night
it forms a cold rind around my eyes
and fills a borrowed
dinner jacket
             like the double-chin of a
fat, sweaty lecherJohn.

this body's swollen and
the earth turns to sea
around me.

Rosewood; Oak; pine-slabbed flotilla
bobbing downstream
downup, down, up
like the sun-baked summer child
on a sun-hot trampoline:

a diver coming up for air.
We follow the bends in a
slow, unyielding procession...

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That Hundred-year-old rosewood door,
Imported from Brazil and hung before the civil war,
according to the local folklore,
It was a magnificent reddish brown wooden door. 
That adorned the front of a liquor store.
An Old newspaper clipping humorously 
describes the terrific uproar.
And the gore when a hundred local women or more
stormed that liquor store they were unhinged 
when they ripped down that old rosewood door
After that day never more 
did that liquor store open its door...

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