The wind brushes whispering dry paper bark –
it tastes like the footprints of bees,
tastes like foaming petal smoke,
and drifts of antique yellow blossoms
ride like kisses on a gnarled green branch.
Bitter sap flows, hidden beneath creamy soft buds
sweet pollen drifts to the skies.
Almond tree in bloom.
This poem just blew me away!
“I began ‘Shadowbox’ during a morning writing session with a friend where we took different end-line words (horses, something, decisions) and wrote toward them. Not controlling which end word would come next allowed for our own buried obsessions to rise up and fill the void. I love the term shadowbox for its multiple meanings, as in shadowboxing with the self or in reference to the dreamlike assemblages of Joseph Cornell where memory and history are juxtaposed to create surreal landscapes of the mind.”
Spent some time today listening to a really interesting Guardian podcast on Black History.
Paul Robeson was one of my father’s greatest heroes. He represented my dad’s ideal of well-rounded excellence – athlete, scholar, and activist. Australian writer Jeff Sparrow has a new biography out on Robeson’s life.
Ishmael Reed is an author who’s been on my radar for awhile, but I have not yet read any of his writing. Penguin Classics has just released his 1973 release Mumbo Jumbo.
Listen to the podcast here.
I came, a-wearying
story in my hand,
not realizing that most folks had it in mind
to go to the movies instead.
So, I drank iced water,
bruising my past in the process,
and I hurried to make it to the party
before it was over
and the doors were locked.
I walked for hours that night
Dry and restless,
the dust shaken from my feet.
The quick laughed with the dead,
and it was no surprise to me
when I found
no room at the inn.