The Wild God
by John Rowe (Albany)
The world will not surrender
until you surrender
then you are released to roam
in the body of a wolf
to climb the slate mountain
at night, without fear of
heart becoming heavy,
without the give the breaking
away of earth shards under foot.
Ascend to the crest
of that tower of stone
where full moon illumination
lights eye whites in pitch-black
as if hatching to release new life.
Below in valley of kingdom’s
darker side, one wail ruptures
stillness. How will the cry
be defined? For those suddenly
awake with fear or exhilaration,
they will imagine their rebirth
and rise to that sound wavering
in suspended time.
Name yourself the wild god.
Wherever you are, you are
full of hunger, free to prowl
under a sky of shooting stars.
|
Night Sky
by Mary Loughran (Alameda)
Colors drop like stones into a deep pool of forgetfulness.
Harsh and clanging tones he flings into the night dark sky.
Fireworks, lamenting clouded landscape, fizzle as they rise
within him. Fear rains, and nowhere do surrounding spirits
manifest, protect. Every night is Halloween without children.
Cloud masses mourn white in the East, where friends by phone
lament pale hue, as he relates it, lament his stormy black
forgetfulness, “The pain?” They do not say this. Fear at surgery
impending drenches all in sweat that tears, and tears the heart.
Black, background color of night stars, dazzling black, black
jet beads and lace, symphonic black Mahler, black fingers playing
sax black’s now a wall of terror between him and his life,
“Can’t tell what’s what ‘til we go in,” the surgeons say.
Under pale blue cap he smiles relaxed, surrenders to the undertow,
the effortless drifting into a pool of blankness beyond time where
moment turns hour, two . . . The sudden jolt startles Jonah,
beached upon the shore, groggy to know where he’s landed.
Surgical waters of forgetfulness recede. Small stones eddy
at the water’s edge, Amethyst for healing hurts, like gemstones at his lover’s
throat . . . Royal blue for calm repose, the dress she wore, the ocean
in her eyes. Amber, ochres, warm sunsets red, orange, pink. Deep
forest greens, spring time lightened, draw pain outward dissolve
with morphine. Memory’s mettle returns silver, his father’s watch, in
gold, the ring of his wife. Beneath the stones, within the mire of brown
earth tones, tree bark, root, rock ridge and adobe clay, he spots the
peck of dirt not yet swallowed whole, touches grandma, work, desire.
The nurse telling dirty jokes in the hospital corridor, to make him smile
on bad nights, grins as he passes, passing gas at 3:00 a.m. His IV stand,
a wayward pup straying into walls and doors, avoids the window at
hallway’s end toward which he inches, arriving just as strength gives way. Benched, he moans. Benched, he breathes, squirts a hit morphine
from the tube fastened on his hospital gown . . . clicks. . . waits, head
bowed, as if . . . . Muscles release, breathing expands, neck lifts
from posture of prayer. Then, rising, stomach close in arms’ embrace,
he turns outward, toward, and belly laughs triumph into the dark night sky. |
