Poems
by John Tustin
The Hurricane Marries The Sun
Stepping out onto the asphalt
Watching the lonely trees sway at their tops
From the hurricane breeze
In this homely night on the remnants of a swamp.
The rain is hot on my skin,
My heart swaying among those lonely trees,
Myself
Alike in loneliness.
The rain falls about, forming pools, puddles in the street,
Glistening in the darkness.
Remembering a moment long dead,
My face wet streaked,
Standing resolute in the howl of the wind
And the waving of the upper branches.
The dull grayness of the sky reflected in my drunken eyes
Hours before the hurricane drops down
Upon this place where I live
And loathe this life,
This lack of life.
I plan to sleep through the storm
While I dream of you,
The dark eyed hurricane that came into my life unannounced -
Your hair the still perfectly arranged chaos in the storm-eye,
Your own heart filled with rain and damage.
Your hurricane of a heart
Doing me such catastrophe
As I am prostrate,
Agape in wonder
At the beauty of such tenderly uncalculated savagery
That drowns my world in a night
And, upon the first new sun breaking the gray,
Lights like the fire of her hair so black
That becomes threads of spilling fire
When met by the aubade of peaceful morning
Enflaming and sustaining the blood
Pumping through my heart.
My heart
Both broken
And restored.
Pansies Grow
Pansies grow
Rivers flow
Skies they rain
Bottles drain
Birds will fly
Hawkers cry
Children born
Garments torn
Skies will cloud
Cry out loud
Skies will sun
Fore night come
Night is here
Shed a tear
Morning comes
For only some
A Picture With No Frame
It was a simple picture
A youngish couple smiling,
Dressed to go somewhere important,
A bridge and the sunset behind them.
It wasnt framed very well
And, in my mind,
The womans smile was forced.
He had a vacuous Nic Cage smile
But he sure was classically handsome for a twerp.
They were both pretty
And I could smell the salt water,
Hear the distant traffic,
Feel the breeze coming off of the bay.
That woman, though
I couldnt stop thinking about her.
Windblown hair, wan smile,
Eyes so dark and melodious.
Her eyes sang to me.
She looked like a prisoner
But she was smiling.
I wanted to rescue her from the horror
Of a classically handsome twerp with a Nic Cage smile
But when I looked at her wrists
I saw no shackles
And there did not appear to be a gun in Nic Cages hand
So I didnt do anything
But close my eyes and see that picture in my mind
Until I slept,
Imagining I was making Ms. Windswept Hair smile
With my words and my tender kisses
On her glistening neck
And that the smile on her face
Look like
The genuine article.
When I fell asleep I dreamed about her.
I dont remember it.
How can one rescue a damsel not believing
She is in distress?
You cant.
Goodbye, Ms. Windswept Hair.
I hope Nic Cage Smile isnt as rotten
As he looks.
If you wear chains, my dear,
I assure you
That they are made of paper
And if you want me to remove them for you,
Blink twice.
I brought my scissors.
You Are The Twine
You are the wine
And the strongest locks
You are the twine
That upholds the box
You are the hope
You are the tether
You are the rope
That holds it together
You Are The Wine
I am the glass
And you are the wine.
You are the hand
And I am the stem.
I am the mouth
And you are the senses.
Pour yourself into me.
Pour yourself into me.
I pour myself into you.
You are the glass
And I am the wine.
I am the hand
And you are the stem.
You are the mouth
And I am senses.
Again, I say
Pour.
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