Monthly Archives: December 2018

Diary: El Cajón de Grecia, November 2018.

I don’t have any new poems this month, I’m working on one but it’s not ready yet. I have been reworking a couple of previous poems, and I think the last section of the one in progress is ready to share.

This is a revised last section of an earlier poem, “Dream of Job.”

Dream of Job

II. The dream

Job laid prostrate
three friends chiding
he surely a sinner
Job yet holding righteous
accosting of God.

Lightning flashes
birthing thunder

God appears
as furious Storm
maddened at cheek
of He being challenged
expounds tedious
the sweep of His wonders
the slightness of man.
You presume to confront Me?
Yea, tremble at My might!

An orb of light
expands, glows bright
female in figure
countenance sharpened
spewing of sparks
wagging her finger
up the nose of God

You vile old goat
all puffed up
before these poor humans
conniving to cow
by appearing a tempest
jealous proclaiming
yourself first among gods
taking credit for all.
Puffed up so vain
enjoining your own image
proclaiming commandments
thirty score, more
most petty and silly.
Humans walk on eggshells
lest they displease
you yet finding fault.
Try to forbid me
to sully your name
demon nescient
to coldness of heart.

The fiery sphere softens
turns her face to humans
addresses them gentle
As with gods all
this dream of Him
as His likeness, yours.
Now, awaken
empty the bladder
rinse the mouth, spit
sip and swallow
fluff up the pillows
settle back down
let loose the mind
a new dream.

The dreamer in form
now of Woman
fingertips touching
the rise of her pubis
whispers a chant

Rain must fall
bear Land to Sea
Fire in the belly
roils the continents
Fire in the belly
roils the flesh.

I’v also still been reworking this poem, from last month.

The doggess of dawn

Night falls
as do the eyelids
the mind untethered
shifter of shapes spinning
scenes never seen
yarns richly woven
threads of the ether.

First break of dawn
Bela the youthful
with flick of  tongue
a rose tinged black
tickling the left elbow
drawing the dreamer
back to the now
seemingly solid.

Her eyes quick
body a smile
wake up
get up
then turning about
curving back her head
marking of question
as to her haunches

Days, nights
gray, then gone
march on.
Scribbled in pencil
stenciled in stone
that which once was
never more known.

And this is the final section of the poem I’m currently working on, titled “Moving on.”

Scorpion, Turtle

beholds Turtle
exclaims admiration
Your back so expansive
a true Turtle Island.

in turn
laughs and replies
And you, little one
so quick, so sharp.
Forthwith, fast friends
vowing never to part.

The many years passing
Scorpion becomes restless
lusting to wander
sets out, Turtle tagging
directly a broad river
bars their path.
Scorpion vexes
How can a scorpion
unable to swim
ever cross this broad stream?
Never fear replies Turtle
Hop on my back
I’ll carry you over.
Scorpion arrided
Turtle enters the water
swimming with ease
soon far from shore.
Hearing a sound odd
as to a rasping
Turtle turns his head asking Scorpion
What is that you’re doing?
I’m whetting my sting
so to pierce your hard shell
Scorpion confesses.
Why would you do harm
to a long loyal friend?
Turtle puzzles.
Alas, I’m Scorpion.
At the end of the day
I cannot do other.
Benighted being
Turtle retorts.
It is well that I have
within my powers
to both save myself
and to apportion to you
your just dessert.

And straightaway Turtle
diving down deep
leaves Scorpion to drown.