Dancing Shadows - Sample Poems

Dancing Shadows

The shadows are dancing now.
See, over there,
how the couple of them
hold close to each other
trembling in the dim light from the washroom?
Why, she's playing her silhouette hands
down the edges of his pants.
(Just see how he's smiling.)
And over there,
the long, thin one that jiggles and jumps,
a boogaloo, git-down guy
leaping cross tables, over salads,
shimmering in small waves over the surface
of the punch bowl.
Why they're dancing these shadows!
Smoochin' and a huggin',
swayin' in and out, back and forth.
See, by the door,
the crowd of them, pushin' and a tuggin',
colliding touchless into each other;
the friends and the lovers,
the sisters and the brothers,
each letting go of themselves,
each making gestures at the stars.

And tonight I am dancing also;
taking on shadow-like qualities
and fading at times
in distant corners of the crowded dance floor.

My Men Folk Never Had
(for a black male poet)

My men folk never had
sweet bird calls on the edge of morning;
nor skies, nor lazy, golden silences;
not one flower garden love affair.
And so they wrote what was full in them;
dropping their load into the world
like bastard children of their seed
aching with memories and awful longings.

Poets in a foreign tongue
they tore at life
killing the sun;
killing dreams on the verge of evening;
bleeding vengeance of reality
on concrete cities
(and the women who loved them).
Later writing down their anger
in another place,
in another poem.

With burned out hearts and hands
they scaled the walls of hell
and lost themselves to reason and cocaine;
to find themselves in midnight waiting rooms
held/in three-day observation;
later breaking loose; breaking open
in the cement cellar of the world
looking for a sun that would not shine.

No Good Ever Come Outta Lovin'

No good ever come out of lovin'.
He knew that.
And she in her way
knew it too.
Sometimes she felt like some kindda
love junkie; wanting him more
even when it hurt.
Even at the laundromat on Tuesday afternoon
she thought about him.

She didn't like tears no more than he did,
and told him so.
And he confessed he stayed away sometimes
just to prove he could.
But she asked him not to,
cause it hurt her so.
He didn't want to hurt her with his love,
He knew that. And told her so.
He couldn't help himself, he said.
His need was hard and selfish and he knew it.

So neither of them spoke about tomorrow
or just what shape their last goodbye might take.

Love Song

If you really love me, really,
you will be kind with me and fair.
You will take only what I can give
and remembering my needs
love me long into my helpless nights.
You will allow my kissing and slight fussing
in the difficulties of a new day's opening

and I'll make french toast for you
with lots of syrup
and read the last few lines from night's
closing poetry,
and not forgetting soap for the shower
or love poems on bathroom mirrors.

And maybe we'll mention our caring
and maybe not.
What's morning without indecision?
What's daybreak without orange juice and fresh possibilities?
What is poetry without your smile?

 

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