But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.
The poem was composed at my temporary work-station (see photo), on a ridge overlooking the Blackstone/Seekonk River (while my house is being painted).
The tiny whiz-bird hums & floats,
hovering over my rose
pontoon, her paradise.
A flint blade chimes bell-notes
out of Grime’s Graves (neolithic).
By the grey Blackstone
Hilario J. Robin
snake-charms knotty hillside oak –
dauntless redbreast, passionate
Guillem d’Orange. Whose cell
is gathering mass (black
wholeful o’moss) in triplicate
like an Old Glory spun of Greenville
jasper – caustic wax
to burn each switchback’s
cussed fer-de-lance (eternal
jail) into a trillion spangle-tiers
of morning (milky spider-
barn). Haul it down before
nightfall. The soul in tatters
seeks a deeper, quieter call –
Jonah’s Pacific hum
from whale profundum – bee-
balm croon for Memphis Emanuel.
Will set you free. Sweetly now
the offspring of the sun
are fielded, droning, into
one (farfalla-Gaspee... rain bough).