Conyus: TWO POEMS
THE ART OF MIDNIGHT
for Raymond Chandler
Midnight here, and the fog is like a heavyweight boxer,
Knocking out weak street lights with one punch,
And moving on down the block to light poles.
The night is a long judgment of dark tomorrows,
And the fog, a champion of infinite sadness.
Sometimes, when midnight is near the horizon,
You can see a low light over the bay.
Most of the late hours now are a halo of blues,
Pushing east into the delta like a Muddy Waters song,
About old friends who come at you,
With open arms and heavy baggage;
None can sing, but they all have guitars
Without strings
And mud on their shoes.
I saw someone the other day,
I thought I knew, and then, they were gone,
Like your life, before you know it.
Not every warbler is a songbird,
And some songs are not songs at all.
Sometimes at night I cry.
Most times I cry and cry alone,
In the dark, near the ocean, and at midnight.
It’s called the Art of Midnight.
As the Japanese say,
” A Lone Crane Set Against the Sky.”
Conyus
September 20, 2001
San Francisco
Copyright © 2001 and 2008
DECEMBER 26, 2007
The truce now over
For the twenty-four hour period,
They begin to kill again in the Holy Land
And around the world.
Moslems against Jews,
Jew against Palestinians, Christians against Moslems,
People against people,
One minute after the day of the birth of Christ.
Young men die in the streets
Of Richmond, CA, Baghdad, and South Central L.A.
Over colors: crimson red, navy blue,
Camouflage and cotton white.
National flags make colorful decorations
Draped across coffins and wrapped around
Xmas trees atop with a bright shining cross
To point out chalk marks on the pavement.
Beneath the tree are body bags filled with gifts
From a world gone mad with killing
And stock market Santas still delivering oil
From the back of humvees to Wall Street merchants
Who watch the Pope (with huge HD TV’s)
On the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City
Bless the crowd of thousands below
With peace & love for another
364 days.
Conyus
Copyright © 2008
