Sleeplessness

-

                                                           The tug, tug, tug

at my ribs...

I turn memories into poetry

that otherwise would be 

too much to bear,

too sad to tell.

 

And the pummelling

of the iron fists,

the razor-sharp shrapnel blaze

How will we all survive 

the assault by Israel


   Our personal drama is nothing

if you compare

 

Can you hear the human howling?

Can you see the blaze?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My English has sharp Ts like espinas de nopal

-
  How can I soften the sharp Ts in my sound? The ones I acquired at school where the teacher used to say ‘keep your accent for flirting’ When you aren’t British, or Latina, or coloured, or white, What are you? Latinos, the ones with lovely skin like dulce piloncillo call me a mongrel. People look down at me with a little mocking smile: too apasionada, drámatica, oh she’s so funny kind a’smile. Bisnieta de Andaluz, hija de madre blanquísima. Descendiente de Moros. Often I envy a los Latinos del otro lado del océano, them who aren’t separated from their roots por todo un pinche mar Atlántico, solo un muro/a wall, or a river called Rio Bravo, a torrent that vanishes in the cold of winter then emerges from the ground like a deep wound across the desert, like my tears/ my rage lying in wait behind mi sonrisa, that pounces upon some unsuspecting victim, never the apropiarte target. Mi rio está lleno de ahogados. Only when you start withering you notice your roots are drying, dying, then ...
Read more

Sunday- for Julian

-
Like muffled rain tiny snow flakes, frozen analogy of cherry blossom, fall in the middle of spring Frost dazzled the frogs in the midst of their amphibian embrace. Fantastic creatures in the depths of the pond with two heads and eight legs. Roses, ignoring the weather are filled with promises Periwinkle, Maiden Weed, Sorceress Violet, Blue Eyes, Blind Weed, Vincapervinca, embroiders with indigo the sumptuous white carpet. Under his iced cap the stone Buddha dreams of the Himalayas And with it all in spite of everything I, deprived of faith, get lost in origami of words.
Read more