Another from Rick Christiansen
Eroded Hip Hop Complex
Say the dust motes falling into the sunlight before me.
An act of becoming and dissolving.
Our death is our wedding with these things.
I feel it in the firmness of each footstep taken.
And myself, in the lifting of that step.
The artisan searches for what is not there
In order to practice his craft.
I practice stillness in my movement.
I am not there.
Say the joints that ache while they dance through the floor.
Anxiety makes ME warm.
And so, I contribute to the process.
I make trinkets to prove that I exist.
I display them to force their existence.
Even tea will intoxicate.
If only you drink it quickly.
The body will nurture the mind and provide
Say the utensils that I have laid down after their use.
I am much too small a place to live.
I must stretch and groan into fullness.
I have pulled my own existence out of this fissure.
I have not forgotten the traces of my gifts.
I remember the poverty of emptiness.
I will not travel there again.
The flavor of optimism builds on my tongue.
And I swallow.
This from Rick Christiansen , Edited ( there was some confusion as to which poem was his)
WHY MEN SHOULD NOT OWN PARROTS
A big Amazon Grey, that’s what I’m not going to have.
The blank, feral countenance almost too much to bear.
Like looking into a mirror.
They live a long time,
such a commitment.
My friend had one once.
It went on a rampage.
Like a confused, angry midget
it turned everything over
and then did it again.
Finally, exhausted, it sat confused.
Wondering why so much effort led to so little effect.
The mood swings are the hardest part.
A man needs stability.
And they bite.
You must feed them
And they will send scattered
seed husks to the floor
that may cause you to slip and fall
if you are not careful.
They are always hungry.
I have read that you can leave on the television.
The noise and light provide some stimulation
while you are away.
When you do arrive home, they become excited
and they try to hide their emotions with
kung fu kicks from the perch.
Waiting for you to make the first move
toward reestablishing a relationship that has diminished in your absence.
Even if only for the day.
They are related to the dinosaurs
and seem afraid of the same extinction.
That is why they cling to your shoulder
Waiting for you to whisper your secrets to them.
They like repetition.
It makes them feel secure.
You must know what they need without being told.
Or, they become waspish and aloof.
Or, sometimes solicitous,
like a child who smells the candy in your pockets.
It is exhausting to be the object of such anticipation without direction.
No wonder you delay your arrival longer each day.
Perhaps a parakeet or cockatiel
light enough to perch on your finger
Certainly, one of those would be harder to notice
when you are tired and do not wish to attend?
Where there is less weight, there is less gravity.
And the tantrums are smaller.