Poetry four

War Song

You think a lot about war, don’t you,
asked she, as I stuck another forkful
into my mouth.
Oh, once or twice a day, I understated,
when I read the journal.
This day’s news
the heart of junkie poet stops,
His haggard face, edgy and high-
those battles too fought I.
And another tsar, old, pushed and pulled,
by generals and CIA tipping cheerfully glasses,
As boy soldiers, two hundred, fighting, dying.
We’re lucky, she, me chewing,
another 30,000 innocents wasted.

Thinking,
thinking this land
we feed animals abandoned
to dry dusty struggle in heat.
My orders: stand head-up breathing
waiting focusing aiming.
My energies war-like I attack the dirty floors.
If they came for my land
thinking,
though I’ve none nor want.
Those bombs bullets blood
whose war- our wars.
A dead poet’s war.
But the women-
this woman, sister mother lover:
Send the boy new
a child-man
soft, unwarring
needless and transcendent,
his victory unfought
in being.

Cagliari, Italy

August 11, 1996

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Old dog how do you know love so well....

Old Dog

Old dog how do you know love so well.
Old dog your ear in amiss
the ticks still your blood
eyes thick and smoky
Not eaten in days
patiently you have this meal
And call your cat friends in then.
Old dog calling, keeping the watch
your master’s left you-
greeting all equally though, your eyes giggling
My I jealous even.
Old dog how do you know so well
this thing a word I call friend.
Old dog why are you sad
is it that you, knowing too your end
needing to consider.
Old dog my Doctor
from where did you take this wisdom.
Old dog slyly will you sound
down impatient Death’s road
your quiet smile
and easy gait fearless
though you bring your pain.
Old dog tell them in Heaven’s recovery room
you saw some of us.
And more listening now are we.

Cagliari, Italy

August 18, 1996