darkly,
like a gothic apparition,
You seize me,
already powerless
from Your kiss,
weak-kneed,
teetering at the brink
of an abyss;
You more than
overpower me,
You fairly devour me,
surprisingly
creating a state
of bliss;
I am chaste,
but also chosen,
and Your will
overcomes me,
interwoven
with ecstasy;
but I do not falter,
I do not veer,
as my moans
and my writhing
and my twisting,
make ever clear;
You are my Mistress,
and any measure
of this treasure,
holds no account
of this sacred pleasure,
that I now mount.
April 27, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
4/29/10
4/25/10
no fool
she was the kerosene,
and I was the campfire;
in her eyes,
I was not who I once had been,
too much burned away
to begin again;
sometimes old dogs,
they just wander off
into the woods to die
I stood there and took
the beating, even as
I wondered why
no fool like an old fool,
unable to say goodbye
one jewel just the next tool,
a fish about to fry
cover your bets
like you cover your privates,
and don't let them catch you
nappin' because what you
expect the least is exactly
what's gonna happen
no fool like an old fool,
unable to say goodbye
one jewel just the next tool,
a bird up in the sky
corner your doubts
from their whereabouts,
and put them in a basket,
carry them along with you
whatever you do,
and put them in your casket
no fool like an old fool,
unable to say goodbye
one jewel just the next tool,
one more time to cry
April 26, 2010. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was this man and this woman . . . .
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
and I was the campfire;
in her eyes,
I was not who I once had been,
too much burned away
to begin again;
sometimes old dogs,
they just wander off
into the woods to die
I stood there and took
the beating, even as
I wondered why
no fool like an old fool,
unable to say goodbye
one jewel just the next tool,
a fish about to fry
cover your bets
like you cover your privates,
and don't let them catch you
nappin' because what you
expect the least is exactly
what's gonna happen
no fool like an old fool,
unable to say goodbye
one jewel just the next tool,
a bird up in the sky
corner your doubts
from their whereabouts,
and put them in a basket,
carry them along with you
whatever you do,
and put them in your casket
no fool like an old fool,
unable to say goodbye
one jewel just the next tool,
one more time to cry
April 26, 2010. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was this man and this woman . . . .
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
hoping
she keeps looking
in the mirror,
hoping that
she will see a different face;
he keeps staring
at her,
hoping that her image
will become clearer,
hoping that he will
see her in a different place;
they keep pawing
at each other,
two wet cats in a bag,
searching for
just a trace
of whatever
scampered
out the door,
in some secret race.
April 25, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
in the mirror,
hoping that
she will see a different face;
he keeps staring
at her,
hoping that her image
will become clearer,
hoping that he will
see her in a different place;
they keep pawing
at each other,
two wet cats in a bag,
searching for
just a trace
of whatever
scampered
out the door,
in some secret race.
April 25, 2010.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
4/24/10
Arizona: April 24, 2010
1964:
I was ten,
and he was 64,
and still mourning
for JFK,
his hero,
his champion,
único;
we sat, as usual,
under his grapevine arbor,
as I pressed him
in my budding journalist way,
to tell me about
the journey across
the Great Ocean,
fifty-two years earlier;
his eyes narrowed,
and he leaned over me:
"why do you want to know,"
he said, softly;
"Well, Grampa, only because
I want to know about your life,
about how you came to America,
everything, Grampa,
everything," I said,
earnestly;
he looked into my eyes,
and said:
"a de cortar o coração,"
which he quickly translated:
"heartbreaking";
"So many of us, crammed on to
that ship, fighting for space,
many seasick,
the smell overpowering,
as all eyes kept looking
for that shore,
for America";
"But you made it, Grampa,"
I intoned,
"you made it across."
And he looked at me,
eyes once again wide,
a broad smile crossing his face:
"Yes, my little rapaz,
yes, I did. And now,
America, this is my country.
This is where I have worked
my whole life, and made it
possible
for my grandson, you,
to be free, to be
an American,
and the old country,
I have left behind. I am
an American now."
He told me that it was
hard, being Portuguese,
in those early days,
as he was only 12
when he arrived,
and went to work in
the Hathaway textile mill;
he struggled to learn English,
with the help of his two sisters,
already here, married,
and raising families;
but he worked hard,
and he endured,
and the only reason that
I am setting these lines down
for you to read now,
is because of his dedication,
his perseverance,
to be an American;
so when you ask me,
what I think about Arizona,
today, on the 24th of April, 2010,
what do you think I will say?
April 24, 2010, for Grampa, and every other immigrant to America. Viva la raza!
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
I was ten,
and he was 64,
and still mourning
for JFK,
his hero,
his champion,
único;
we sat, as usual,
under his grapevine arbor,
as I pressed him
in my budding journalist way,
to tell me about
the journey across
the Great Ocean,
fifty-two years earlier;
his eyes narrowed,
and he leaned over me:
"why do you want to know,"
he said, softly;
"Well, Grampa, only because
I want to know about your life,
about how you came to America,
everything, Grampa,
everything," I said,
earnestly;
he looked into my eyes,
and said:
"a de cortar o coração,"
which he quickly translated:
"heartbreaking";
"So many of us, crammed on to
that ship, fighting for space,
many seasick,
the smell overpowering,
as all eyes kept looking
for that shore,
for America";
"But you made it, Grampa,"
I intoned,
"you made it across."
And he looked at me,
eyes once again wide,
a broad smile crossing his face:
"Yes, my little rapaz,
yes, I did. And now,
America, this is my country.
This is where I have worked
my whole life, and made it
possible
for my grandson, you,
to be free, to be
an American,
and the old country,
I have left behind. I am
an American now."
He told me that it was
hard, being Portuguese,
in those early days,
as he was only 12
when he arrived,
and went to work in
the Hathaway textile mill;
he struggled to learn English,
with the help of his two sisters,
already here, married,
and raising families;
but he worked hard,
and he endured,
and the only reason that
I am setting these lines down
for you to read now,
is because of his dedication,
his perseverance,
to be an American;
so when you ask me,
what I think about Arizona,
today, on the 24th of April, 2010,
what do you think I will say?
April 24, 2010, for Grampa, and every other immigrant to America. Viva la raza!
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
4/23/10
arguments, we have some
life,
balanced
on a razor blade,
as You and I
caterwaul
in the mid-day shade;
hopes and dreams
nearly succumb
to fears and screams,
and we each
worry
that we have
torn seams,
rent all that it means
to be one
out of two;
but then I remind
You,
that having found
You once again,
I will never let
You go;
and You glare at me,
with venomous slits
for eyes,
and then slowly,
ever so slowly,
I see stars
and knowing grace
replace anger
with Your sweet smile
on that soft face,
and You beckon,
as I reckon,
that we have landed
in a safe place.
April 22, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
balanced
on a razor blade,
as You and I
caterwaul
in the mid-day shade;
hopes and dreams
nearly succumb
to fears and screams,
and we each
worry
that we have
torn seams,
rent all that it means
to be one
out of two;
but then I remind
You,
that having found
You once again,
I will never let
You go;
and You glare at me,
with venomous slits
for eyes,
and then slowly,
ever so slowly,
I see stars
and knowing grace
replace anger
with Your sweet smile
on that soft face,
and You beckon,
as I reckon,
that we have landed
in a safe place.
April 22, 2010, for the Wifey.
Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
