T is for Tarantella
It’s been set to music,
And I like the story
That goes
That if one dances
Fast enough with zest
And spirit and need,
The poison will
Withdraw from out
The spider’s bite
Perspiration, perhaps
Perhaps reward of
Tribute to Arachne
Who knows, maybe
To the mischief of
Ananzi, too
Now let’s make our
Own tale of such
Movement and lost
Consciousness in
Dance to take us
To a place where
Divinity gives
Healing
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S is for Science
Science is skill
Practice and progress
Discipline, consistent
Method and trial
So is poetry-making
Poeia in ancient Greek
(The process of
Making)
Both are spiritual acts
Dealing with creation
And miracle
Though scientists and
Poem-makers might
Not see the fabulous
Beyond amazing
Accomplishments of
People
In effect, the miracle
Being us
Well, so be it
I see the soul, and
That’s my science
Global, adhesive
Respect will keep our
World together
And so I will look
Forward to your way
And we may measure
And skillfully remake
The cosmos together
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First Day
The first thing I do
Is scope the day
Maybe I suss out
How I’m feeling
Unconsciously, I think
Of God
S: How can you do
With any awareness
An unconscious thing?
How can I not
Look out the window
See the wide dark
Bend of branches
Reaching up toward
Undefined scenery
Behind
And not think about
Even in my fuzzied
State of waking up
Who made it all, the
Unclear parts, too
S: Well
Well, nothing—I
Think of God
And when the light
Gets bigger with
Some yellow, I’ll
Think better
Lyric about Leaving
(on, frankly, overhearing the first line
in conversation)
Don’t ever go away
But we go away, when we must
I don’t like it, either
If I move, it doesn’t mean
I feel your leaving less, your
Presence in my life leaving
Now
The only joy in leaving is
Return
I go to strangers, so why would
I want to stay
I’ll come back, and maybe
You’ll return to me, too
I know it can happen if in
Uncertain ways
I hope my will and yours are
Of one mind in which calm
Love takes over when together
From the day
From the day
R is for Rose
(requiring parenthetic subtlety)
Cloak filled with roses
Emblems of a miracle
At Guadalupe (in
Spanish, the e would
Get some emphasis)
Roses are a metaphor
For, as Catholics call
Her. the Mother of
God, met by sainted
(Both ways) faithful
Cuauhtlatoatzin (in
Aztec—try it as it
Sounds) outside of
Town, not recognizing
Her but treating her
With all respect, as
Women (and good
Men) are due, before
She was revealed
Mary is a rose, so is
Solomon when
Speaking of his love
I am the rose of
Sharon, having more
To say of savor for
The lover’s taste
Passion is a rose,
Though shades can
Change things (red is
For, white is for,
Yellow and purple
Have their meanings,
Too
And if a pop-culture
Color is preferred,
There’s Abby-black)
So, G. Stein, a rose
May not be a rose,
For discretion might
Be required and
Context for the next
Trip to the florist
(at present in USA, an orange rose is symbol for healthy birth by Every Mother Counts, http://www.everymothercounts.org/)
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(pronounced as the male monarch’s name)
Q is for Quing
Lately, I’ve been wondering
If women can’t be kings
Not that queen isn’t a good word
It’s fine
But for many, it rudely matters that
The queen is not the king
We’ve had women working as kings
King Elizabeth the First
King Victoria
And if Pope Joan’s and Nefertiti’s
Reigns are believed,
They ruled as kings in their
Respective cultures
If queens don’t want to be kings
I understand
After all, kings actual, though
Royal, too often do not take well
To scrutiny
But overall I’d like to say
Hail, King Elizabeth
Hail, King Zenobia
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When we do it, it’s Worse
Death number climbs in
Ecuador, while the dead
Are counted in Japan, as the
Living are cared for
Because the earth cracked
Widely, terribly of its own
An explosion in Kabul
Kills many, destroys other
Things—homes, places of
Business, religious practice
Surfaces—and the death of
Hope
This destruction caused by
The Taliban that sees no
Wrong in murdering its own
Since, in this act, the
Perpetrator and the victim
Share the nation’s blood
Civil war or any like-tragedy
Inside of one people
We romanticize our war in
The USA
But I think, all said, we’d
Rather have the romance
Without the dead
If God can save Afghanistan
If it pleases within the
Parameters of will and
Allowance for humanity
I hope God rescues both life
And the liberty
For believers to submit
Themselves for what they’ve
Earned—mercy or God’s
Unqualified judgment
P is for Petrarchan Sonnet
(Petrarch’s writing signaled the Renaissance)
So when I love with all I am alive
Then we are introduced as I and you
Therewith you ask me ever to be true
We press out feeling into a heart-hive
And thus you try to make it all survive
A mystery of evidence, a clue
To why you need me to pledge us anew
And wonder why we can’t in peace now thrive
It’s fear, I guess, and I can understand
When all is eye that cannot see around
That life before is ever in command
Until fear leaves in grace might love abound
So, love, let love become a golden band
A flex of give and strength to fright astound
[A] sonnet form popularized by Petrarch, consisting of an octave with the rhyme scheme abbaabba and of a sestet with one of several rhyme schemes, as cdecde or cdcdcd.
http://www.dictionary.com/browse/petrarchan-sonnet
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