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I Am Not Tragically Coloured
(about zora)
1.
So the Moon shines in April
a half quarter gleam
at your backside, dust tracks
on the road of
caressing you with His knack
for falsetto grace-hope.
So the Moon hides
behind, beyond the
strata of cumulous clouds
loud with songs of lust, yearning
your silver-linings,
your breeze blowing
upon the stars
like tornadoes piquing
in the eye of ecstasy; showing
that barefaced facade
like an eclipse of God. And
you somehow want it? Tell my
horse.
2.
On frosted May and
the moon… The
moon full with springtime
surprise, but
no stars in the garden tonight?
Where lies
those subtle orbs of fire?,
their blatant sighs in an atmosphere
filled with mocking.
Must the shy
spy swiss
upon my mahogany visage, an
unwinked eye? Hooded?
I smile with you
and the subtle of your
blasphemy - I smile poetry,
I wink it too (with my
left eye; my right
eye shining in jest - I smile
the prose of questing
for an entire humanity
no longer mired
in the muck of Jim Crow, no longer
as the mule of young virile men -
from terror to triumph - I
smile, for we all
vital)
and you shine. You shine
on.
3.
Butterflies and orchids
Half-rainbows, stars at noon
Wine and green blades
Daffodils
of yellow make you swoon
Carmencitas and jazz
Minds snow-laden
like ol’ Baldy's top
in the midst of LA,
bearing gifts a’glazen
And the chil'ren in sand boxes,
innocent and naïve, energy amaze
Overalls specked
Slides, swings
rathering spirits gay?
Shall you comfort
on benches like lounge rooms?
And fall in gardens, azalea
Dogwood, rose
Special aroma awaits you
(in the gourd vine of redemption.)
kittens claw seraph wings
and dog's paw
like loyalty
in a chase
in a chase
eyes golden green
like hazel teeming
with a malice
of defense
claws will scratch
claws will scratch
a face in moonlit shadow
a voice beckoning
rain drizzling in the pallor
of an invisible orb
stars lit
clouds rampant
and a great man dead…
(dust tracks blown in the wind
of perseverance; in the midst:
reparation)
… and her eyes was laughing,
her eyes on the silver-lined, for
she could not hold a grudge; grudges
rot hearts -
she's naïve-smart, loving
child at twenty-nine; her eyes
be watching God.
They're hungry
and she's queer.
Copyright © 2005 Jacquii Cooke |
