In my father’s study the bookcases are bursting
Neatly of leather-bound marvels:
Encyclopedias from yesteryears outdated
First edition classic canons – perks of his profession
Historical texts on the Western world
My father an intellectual explorer
Only up until a certain point
He liked most to run a hand on time-softened spines
This I know as a little boy spy who
Used to hunt for his father’s attention
Eagerly snatching each stolen detail as
The pit of my stomach deepened while
My eyes drank in his private moments
Unable unwilling to tear away…
An impressive oaken desk lords over the room
Where my father would recline in an equally impressive chair
Feet up on the once impeccable wooden surface
A book in the right hand and the left twirling his glasses
I wondered once as I hid in the spot behind the potted ficus tree
If ever my father compared his son to those intriguing treasures
And found a worthier prize in me
Tag: poetry
“Thoughts from the Back Room”
He struck a match and that fire burned bright
The mighty stink of sulfur went deep in the next inhale
Ya ever smelled sulfur before, I wonder
It hits you real hard like month-old rotten eggs
Or like Manny on the real hard days:
Straight metal pole from nostril to brain
It’s conjured now by the slick flick
Of a seasoned wrist
Its visual incarnation a blazing phoenix
Quietly hissin’ into life
I could only tell ya what I smell and hear, kid
And the light is only my imagination
Because I’ve got a goddamn sack on my head
“Steady”
In them both
A river ran
Without pause
Nor cessation
It ran straight through
The dams of all
Rendering many
A weak resistance
“The Statue”
…that night
Your words and my words
Were one
Your arms and my arms
Entwined
Your lips to my lips
My eyes on your eyes
Your sight was my sight
My sighs, your sighs
Our heads bent
To each other
You and me
An image of prayer
“Evening In the Study”
The song of the wind came from the leaves
Of the tree outside his window
The branches’ swaying hips offered little sips
Of sounds of the distant ocean
There was no scent of salt to lick even as a memory
And so the writer stayed content with phantom waves
That brushed against his ears
“A Tale from the Blue-flame Burned Wood”
A yellow creature snuck upon a spot
There, in the clearing of a forest rot
It edged its way around the blackened trees
Fearful not to step into the middle
With stiffened tail, nervous eyes and wide-open ears to hear
Any predator in a mile before it could reach near
But wait –
First it was the prickly smell of something sweet
That took hold its nose to the center
Curiosity led its eyes ahead
Where it found, in all its lonesome, a tiny morsel
More than a morsel – it was bread!
Without a thought the little creature dashed
To within an inch of its prize, and leapt –
Felt the crust of the bread –
And alas! promptly fell down a nasty hole covered
It learned too late as it plummeted to depths unknown
That the tempting piece of food was bait
Which concealed a trap that lay in sinister wait
“The Monk, the Mercenary and the Lover”
Up the high ceilings our voices float
Joyous, and brim in the space around us
The temple serene with the whisper
Of light wind that twirls through
Wide open arches, and somewhere,
Bodiless voices chant childhood hymns,
And their rhythm breathes through us
We walk on tiled floors we’ve walked
A thousand times before; I hear our
Tender steps echo down the worn years
And each one we’ve made to each other
Slowly drove away the restless shadows
With the moment of our meeting bright’ning
This once desolate sanctuary
//
I’ll know no peace until the chanting’s done
I seethe with guilt at their hymns
I’ll know no calm at their solid march
I’ll take no comfort at the temple here
The deed’s been done; what’s a meager life
For a worthy sum?
Now here they are beyond relief
For which I admit no stake or claim
It’s the circumstance of life –
You take yourself the silver
Or you accept the blame
//
The mercenary’s remuneration
Today will answer for
Yesterday’s recrimination of me
Hey there! Welcome to a den of poetry.
In this place here resides a collection of original poems by Jasmine-Green Milk Tea. May you find something that speaks to your soul in these pages!