Sunday morning On the porch Head back I look At dappled sunlight Through the lace of bittersweet Above in the canopy City birds play Small and brown or Big brash and Shiny black But through the chatter Zooms A noisy jay His blue streaks Marking him as somehow Better High class For a city bird The little brown birds Pay no attention And hop from branch To branch In the sun
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Such a shame Just found a Genuine rotten tomato In my fruit basket And I have No one to Throw it at Darn When you think Something Is gone forever And one day you Get it back It makes you remember Happiness In a new way Because the lost Is found again And all the Small losses That led to the Bigger loss Can be celebrated It is all new What a happy Change A day brings You're Jittery bouncy Laugh too loud Call attention at All the wrong times Fear the Crowd will look away And see your ways What are you Afraid of What do you fear Keeps you High and tight And so afraid Eyes cut sideways Face can't be still Worried all will come Crashing down Leave you naked Surrounded By lies What are you afraid of What Do you fear Keeps you high And tight And So afraid So afraid Too much chocolate today Never ever buy the Big block of Pure milk chocolate Because theoretically you have no Additives And you just have to Limit yourself to Two ounces a day Just like that But no one comes around And marks off The ounces And no one Checks That you Only eat two And it Really Does not work Buying The big block Of Chocolate Pema says Drop it When you're in the Middle of a snit Drop it In a rumination Drop it In sorrow Drop it In jealousy Drop it Let go Let open And free Start new Flood your mind With Fresh air Take the old Air Let the bad Air out Drop it Just Drop it A whisp of a voice Scratch of maraca Saw of violin And lights fill The screen Throughout the Panoply of images Three musicians Weave intricate Melodies as Delicate as lace And thunderous As war Memories flood back Early days Not innocent Yet Not ruined Through this wondrous Marriage of sound And sight In Swaziland they have no food No money no parents I have everything Here in Somerville How did I come to be Born as me and Not as another who Has nothing but Porridge And not even A spoon To eat with? Is it ok to write If you don't have anything To say Should you stay silent And not try When your mind Shuts down And thinking freezes Memory is paralyzed And no words come Can you just be still When you feel stuck And hollow Should you reach out For whatever might Unstick you Or should you just sit And strangle But silence can Bring peace too Sometimes Be still Be still Can you just be still Every once in a while Everyone cancels Or gets lost Or ends up In the wrong place So I sit around A while And maybe fall asleep Waiting for The next one Who doesn't show up My head gets Dull and mushy And it's hard To think Very well But then it's raining Anyway Should have Stayed in bed To start with |