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I think it is time to post this because it is seeming that I am not writing a poem a day, while I am.



RHYTHM IS OUR BUSINESS, OUR BUSINESS IS LOVE

youth and joy feed joy and youth
like a living plant, pliant, agile

my love brings me, pleading
grace and knowledge

that my song gives me

my rhythm swells, its core, heart,
and my love is true to me

I am happy with his songs for me,
his verses set
versus mine, his sweet complaint,
his entreaties
but what really pleases me
is his love,
more desire than…

listen only

to the one who knows one often picks the blooms,
only to wander the denuded garden, astray,

a straw in the stream,

to me:
love face to face,
lie rhythm to song,
press bloom to page


voice maintains


I sing but I don’t want to.
I want to drum beauty, snap presence, celebrate senses;
I would rather show mercy than the blues,
but I am only bitter that I am better at loving than you.
you cannot make me beloved.

word or welcome leads you astray,
to part from me, but I got you with rhythm,
Remember our business.

If this song isn’t beautiful, let it be my message:
why are you so cruel, so far apart, that I must beat a drum,
rather than drop a rhythm into your ear?

UNTIL THE REAL THING COMES ALONG

Respond to me, until the real one comes along,
simple and sweet, returning your love.

But you don't chance a love song
will she ever come along?


Love hasn't taken control
if she can't reveal her love first.

She should come along.

Do fools love?
Until then, I'll speak to you,
sit close and hold you,
but limit myself to this.

THERE GOES THAT SONG AGAIN

I got you with a song of mine.
Who wouldn't do the same?

I hear that song again.
Do you hear that song again?
Yes, but I'm not singing it,
that song which made us fall in love.

I got you with a song of mine.
Who wouldn't do the same?