the vernacular of suburbia
terrace lane drive circle
cul-de-sac by any other name
red and white stripes
stars' story
pallet, skid
row routed away
kids chittering
adults missing in inaction
welcome signs
manicured lawns
no sidewalks
No Outlet
no outsiders
except maybe me
white guy walkin'
maybe not
hold your fire
I can breathe
if you let me
your danger stranger
old glory
who goes there
make the world safe
for hypocrisy
the letter unsent
telegram unread
the news today
hopeless romantic
unmoored Moor
driftwood adrift
you were
never
you
nor
me
me
aeolian choral symphony
infinite shades of green
boundless shapes of sound
ginkgo maple ash birch
ripple breeze billowing
redbud oak hemlock pine
windrift wave length
solo dancing notes
pear apple fig willow
contrapuntal harmony
walnut dogwood tulip beech
aria melody
voiceful strings
arbor daysong
on the spectrum of anonymity
riding heard
on blueberry trill
suspended between me
and me
and you
and them
glissando
obligato
abrigato
oh me oh my
o mio
in the domain of sky and sea
by the king and queendom of our heavenly dome
having fled the phylum of finished fate
in a class all its own
order in the court of courtly love
beyond family and faith
foundering in the genus of frolic and fear
saved by every species of cumulus
fulsome floating wispy
sugary cottony sayonaras
saturated in the sea of sun
swept away
Mater Jubilaei / Mother of Joyful Things
This was originally posted on Mother's Day, 2021. I happened upon it either accidentally or providentially, your pick, on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-R8TefGH_4 It's a mystery to me as to who wrote the words. Is it Tosca Donati, the Italian singer and actress featured on the YouTube linked here? Is it an old hymn? After all, it's in Latin, is it not? I fake-translated the Latin words below (I can't remember how I found them) into this poem, from a memory of Latin, undictionaried, laden with a memory of my mother, who died in 2018, at 102. Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you.
I look for one
expecting all: sure that more is to come
why expect so little
pray it to your falcon wings
tell me what you ask of me
seeking the core of better things
Mother of joy, joy
of motherhood, Mother of eternity . . .
Eternal Mother
of all things Everlasting Motherness
circumspicio una
Omnes expectant : certe aliquis veniet
Cur exspectetis mini
dicite vos peregrini.
Quem quaeras mihi dic,
cor meliora petens.
Mater jubilaei, jubilum
matris, Mater aeternitatis...
Aeternitatis mater,
Aeternitas omnium Matrum
J.M.W. Turner watercolors
not the heft of oils
the ravaged cumulus
stubborn
still
born
wind
wild
digits craving mittens
oven oxymoronics
Eight Miles High
down in the boondocks
work makes you
free less any cost
pleasure makes you
a slave
