Grace
Who has seen
Your beauty?
Who has felt
Your grace?
Who has looked
upon
the blinding
luminescence
of your face;
How can we, and who
can hope to see it ?
Only those who fully
contemplate and
Breathe
the common plight
and fate
of human race,
of a living
on the edge
Of a latent
Never ending,
Ever present grace.
As the ice exists
In sunlight
As the unseen
wind blows
Hard and cold
On a carrying path,
So my blood
Is coursing,
So my heart is
Steady,
So my love is
Constant,
Like a bird
seeking
Shelter
and fulfilment
In a constant
flight,
Shrouded by
The clouds around it.
There was a man
who thought about the past, that thought
His life was
Ending, future nonexistent,
and suddenly
one
day
he opened his eyes,
looked around
and realized
the wealth
that was about Him :
his friends,
his family, his health,
his loves,
and all
the many places
of his habitation
In others:
the souls,
that were
Mirrored in his soul,
And his soul that
was mirrored
in theirs,
and he realized:
this was good,
that in
this unity
itself there
was no other Existence;
that could be truer,
No greater longing
Than for this
Happiness;
And instantly
in the
Now,
he was
at peace,
in this place of
Kindred
Soul.
Frida
You came
Last night
a dark shadow,
As all wandering
Souls do
since Eurydice
In floating cones
and cylinders.
Your presence
Unfelt since
Wandering
The blue walls
And easels
Of your existence,
An
Eye In the place of
The coyotes.
Your flowered
Flowing
Beauty,
A Nocturnal Black
Graced with
hanging
Silver,
Flesh held in place
By rods of steel
And torture,
By the things
That eased your pain:
*Love,
*Pigment,
red as blood
From the back
Of Trotsky’s head
Or from ears cut
by Aztecs warriors,
*Two beds to rest in,
*And your
tiny
Prayerful
Lily white devotions
Crucified on walls,
A Maternal fabric
Behind glass walls
Caged.
A gift sealed in bedrooms.
for certain times.
The cathedrals
And Cortez’s bed
Lie In the place
of Aztec ruins
By your side
In moonlight .
Atlas and Lovers
At the bottom
Of the world
Atlas strains
to lift his burden.
At the top,
Two lovers embrace.
The male lover
chained to
rock of earth,
She amorously
attacks
And picks at him
Winged,
Like a tender hawk,
An angel.
And G_d
has skewered
The world in a middle
Place with
His staff,
Like an apple with
a piece displaced.
He suspends it
And holds it
firmly In its’ place.
Atlas lifts only
What he can bear,
although his
Burden is thought
Unbearable,
And the lovers
Although chained
grow anew,
and curious,
suspended,
They
Float In the air,
Their love,
A flame of
Sweet terror
And
Furious.
PWChaltas 