Flowers by Imani Cezane

My mother tells me I am her favorite daughter
Granted I'm the only one
But it makes me smile anyway
The other day I asked her what kind of flowers she wants to be buried with
Gardenias she said, white ones
She isn't dying, but I've spent my whole life watching her eat herself into the earliest grave she can fit into
We don't talk about drug addicted parents who keep their goods in the pantry, in the cupboard, in the freezer
Addiction is seeking comfort in that which is destroying you
I was in the third grade the first time my mother put me on a scale
I didn't know why
By fifth grade all I wanted to be when I grew up was thin
In the seventh grade I learned that self destruction was hereditary when my grandfather shot himself in the head
In the tenth grade I fainted at lunch because I ate so much that my throat closed into a fist
Senior year I didn't take my yearbook picture because I didn't want to be remembered
It doesn't matter what you look like when all you do is hide
Hide belly, hide back rolls, hide underarm fat, hide double chins,
Seek a remedy,
Seek low fat,
Low calorie,
Low carb
Hide cookies under the bed,
Hide chocolate bars in the closet,
Seek Atkins diet,
Seek Southbeach diet,
Seek Weightwatchers,
Seek Jenny Craig,
Seek God,
Hide from dressing rooms,
Hide clothes that don't fit, but will one day
Hide binge, after binge, after binge,
Seek lovers who love me better than my father did,
Hide lovers who are already other's lovers lover's
Seek forgiveness for the damage done to self
Seek reason to believe this isn't my fault,
Seek help, seek help, seek help,
My relationship with food is the most loyal one I've ever been in
Eating disorders run through my family like a leaky faucet I don't have the tools to fix
But the day I stop reading my weight like an obituary
I will take one of the flowers I've been saving for my casket I will stick it in my hair the way my mother used to
Sing one of them songs she sings on days that ain't that bad
The ones her mother sang before her
And her mother before that
And her mother before that



                                     David Greene






















...

a gentle setting of priorities

   I HAVE FOLDED MY SORROWS                                   





 I have folded my sorrows into the mantle of summer night
 Assigning each brief storm its allotted space in time, 
Quietly pursuing catastrophic histories buried in my eyes, 
And yes, the world is not some unplayed Cosmic Game, 
And the sun is still ninety-three million miles from me, 
And in the imaginary forest, the shingled hippo becomes 
                   the gay unicorn. 
No, my traffic is not with addled keepers of yesterday's 
                  disasters, 
Seekers of manifest disembowelment on shafts of yesterday's 
                  pains. 
Blues come dressed like introspective echoes of a journey. 
And yes, I have searched the rooms of the moon on cold 
                    summer nights. 
And yes,  I have refought those unfinished encounters, 
                      Still,  they remain unfinished.
 And yes, I have at times wished myself something different. 

The tragedies are sung nightly at the funerals of the poet; 
The revisited soul is wrapped in the aura of familiarity.



                                             Bob Kaufman











.....

landscape and the senses

               Fulcrum (Bowl With Wild Plums)    

September 14: They say the cliff swallow
is half an inch longer than the violet-green.

Yesterday, north wind on the South Platte,
flickering free-fall olive speckled with citron.

Now south wind over the North Platte,
shimmering chanterelle singe and glow.

Right and left. A dog sniffing flowers
for a change. The colors of the cliff swallow

the very same as the bay-breast's.

                                  Merrill  Gilfallan

...

Enheduanna

Lament to the Spirit of War                                      

You hack everything down in battle….
God of War, with your fierce wings
you slice away the land and charge
disguised as a raging storm,
growl as a roaring hurricane,
yell like a tempest yells,
thunder, rage, roar, and drum,
expel evil winds!
Your feet are filled with anxiety!
On your lyre of moans
I hear your loud dirge scream.

Like a fiery monster you fill the land with poison.
As thunder you growl over the earth,
trees and bushes collapse before you.
You are blood rushing down a mountain,
Spirit of hate, greed and anger,
dominator of heaven and earth!
Your fire wafts over our land,
riding on a beast,
with indomitable commands,
you decide all fate.
You triumph over all our rites.
Who can explain why you go on so?

....

....the eye begins to see

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NQNey6ycfw










......

au naturelle

   Love Affair                                                                 

The sun sees many flowers,  but the flower sees only the sun:
Blinded three parts of the day,  or dark all dark,
Uneasy, cold,  attentive for release,
He crouches through the night,  or burns and swells
Blindly as in a kind of hurt of love.
They call it blossoming.  The unwieldy earth
Clamps round,  his sap strained and petals shrunk.

And nothing is said.  The sun moves on above
Indifferent,  raging in its own sweet fire
And light, light, light,  the flower twists for it,
Straining its mouth for death,  which it calls love.
‘A God has come upon me’,  gapes the flower
As over the lip of the earth the sun sinks down.
The moon swings to and fro between the trees
Its casual, icy fire.  The first leaves fall.

                                             A. Alvarez






....