hummingbird hum

RIVER KING

A ruby-throated hummingbird

zips past my hideout

like a Feirefiz out

of Wolfram.  Parzival inquired

at last – What ails thee, unstrung king?

& tears of fellow-feeling

poured from that Grail-thing

wrapt from all eyes.  Dovewing-

featherlight, yet penetrating stone –

translucent as stained glass

above tall quarry-house

of God’s emerald-&-ruby throne;

& waves radiate from your Ocean-

Shadow, like the flowing beard

of an Ancient of Days.  Mild,

domestic weather.  We are all children

of one family, Turtledove coo-coos...

Come into the Riverboat

of Paradise, & float

upon a Fontegaia (green, chartreuse).

Dive into Dream River, Orpheus,

Eurydice... the River King

is on his dais, chanting

the origin of everything (in caritas).

We are all offspring of a Thunderbird

who lights the way with lightning –

guiding tears to clay, shaping

these bones into gemstones (flameward).

6.7.18

Gemstone of Paradise

NEVA-LAND

The poem is for lonely you

amidships (I-&-Thou

nailed coign to prow) –

& for that grubby neighbor too

next door (George or Georgina

with the garden hoe).

A solitary lamp-glow

lingers in the old cantina –

in William Blackstone’s study (man

who went to live with...)

– uphill, on the forest path

to Middy Wewe’s blithe fountain.

George Washington spins in his grave

to see how we behave

without a mind to save

us from ourselves.  Thee must be brave,

& true, & kind, & dedicated

to the perfect good –

that global neighborhood

that shines, wid’ green & delicate

kiwi-glow, beneath the rind

of blind & brutal night.

A callow grail-knight

stumbled on it once, near Samarkand –

spry Wolfram rings the tale – &

like an unknown soldier

leapt – O soulman Prospero! –

from here to Skye (in Neva-land).

5.20.16