To Ancestors #blogencore #poetmuse


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To Ancestors

I’ve taken the time to tattoo
A gun that is a pen on my arm
In remembering from where I come from
I find the inner voice again

I summon it from my belly
From my back that aches
With the years of long hours alone
Yes I have been alone, writing

Where have you been?
I travel the circuit and speak my mind
My ears and throat are sore
From the suitcase of free books

I have accumulated without error
I’m doing all that I am supposed to do
This is, the love of my life
Every word, word count, line, line count

Are the symbols I was created to write
I can feel the fieriness of fate
In my throat, hot like a tiger
When I speak, maybe you hear it too

Maybe one of my ancestors
Was a jester at a royal court
And I take after him
Maybe one of my grandmothers had a grandmother

Who was a prophet, and I take after her
Hot blooded I am here
Priestess, shaman, princess, scribe
My hands, they have silver endurance.

In the Haiku between you and I


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In the Haiku between you and I

In the Haiku between you and I
You and me, there is only silence
For I followed you blindly
Without words, like a fool’s errand

And our experiences were finite
But as poets we were prophets
Taking the ordinary
To make it all-beautiful

Immersed in the variables
Of relationships, I became
My own kind of poetic analytics
Poetry defined as immediate
Identification, and you were there

A myth in my eyes of incarnations
A lost journey of mine without a home
I followed you through time like a nomad
Of a poem our lives once wrote together

So pure and profound a calling
A writer-seer’s blind spot of pleasure
Ethereal, unattainable, self-sacrificial
That’s how the poetry between us sounded

Transparent, with a red dress of infatuation
Still warm, the muse of powerful

Barefoot cravings and blue-stretched out
Mythical bed of alphabetical nipple-tested
Vowel-slurring sweet anarchy.