The Year Of My Birth by Philip F De Pinto
For C.
Wombs did
Not as yet exist
And so I was delivered to you
Via a deaf ear
In the year of my birth
On a saintly whim
Francis could be spied
Simultaneously
Nit picking at locks
In your tresses
And cages in your ribs
As would have
Friar free
Yet another
Bird to flock to him
And yet flocking to him
Was never his intention
As Saints to birds can as readily
Become rib cages or locks in tresses
With such caged flock
As fatigue
You were in league
A fagging intrigue
With which I will not compete
Part Sea
In your Red hair
Whisper nothing sweet
In your cochlea
Wade in the water
In your knee
Burn my peat
Or other punk device
Leave room
In the pot
To boil loaded rice
With which to toss
At bride and groom
I plea
You leave room
In your ear
In your skin
In your eyes
In your wit
To hear me
Touch me
See me
Peel me
A hard feeling
Flay me
A chameleon
Taken on the latest guise
Lover
Fall for me
Like a ceiling
And well meaning
A weary flier
The necessary lark
And cover
And my words
You needn't mark
The three needed saying
Two of which you slew
With one soft moan
The other word in the flock
Taking stock of your acute archery
Took to its safety zone
Is grounded and fears to fly
Thus will not complete
The smoky triad
Which would have spelled
The wide swath
Of I and You
In the skies over
The Kilimanjaro
Of my fiercest pride
Summoning all
The petals on its summit
Plummet and gather
Slowly about my feet
Petals as yet to bequeath
Quickly turned to sleet
From the word play
She would not come away
Unscathed
From the flourish
And flaying
And saying
You are nothing
Like me
You are free
A freedom
The wide birth
With which I cannot copulate
And seed
Nor emulate
Flapping the dual horizons
In my brain
And flight is an omen
Herald to that great oxen strain
To come
To turn the mill stone
And the grain crushed
Ceasing to exist on its own terms
When love hunts like talisman
Wounding at first sight
From turrets at its height
Once
Our mutual stares
Clinked like glasses
You were after all
The lily pad
Among the coarse masses
In the pond
Antithesis to pie alamode
And I the toad
Molasses fell
To earth slowly
The year of my birth
Along with a dew drop
which served as clapper
In my liberty bell
Thus the soft crack
And who is to nurse
But your voice
Was my poetry of choice
A verse in which I housed
And joyed and tinkered
The delightful bruises
And bumps in my road
A bird would not be caught
Dead in drab outfit
The scab is a shroud
Muffling the soft moans of wounds
Suffered when the dove was as yet a cob
Which would froth surge upwards
Like geese
Though there were vital signs still
You yanked the plugs
Quite the green ceramic mugs
From the pair I quaff
Nit pick
Tinker summon
Beg their sweet release
And am quickly inebriated
On their jade
Head spins like Rumpelstiltskin
Never to fade
Gold woven from last straws
Though your presence bears repeating
You are leaving
And the first ingot born
Of last straw will not serve
As fair exchange
For there you are
Temptation
And here I am
Hankering still
To parting the sea
In your Red hair
Crack a sweet endearing flea
Hear yea
Hear yea
You are not like me
You are free
To copulate
The wide birth
Not emulate
Flapping the dual horizons
In your brain
When all the future is decreed
You are the last of your breed
A slow pealing bell
A speeding train and bullet
Without aim or fare
And so off you go
Ever to refrain
No mere echo in my brain
You were the rain
And I the thirst
A rain which you would not permit me sop
With crust of sorrow
Stale as the morrow
And love
Is a fancy rite of passing
This too shall come to pass
Your saying to me
Why didn't I take things lighter
We could have remained
The best of friends
Well let me think on that a spell
And all's well that ends ill
And best of friendships
Are an omen
An oxen herald
Come to turn the mill stone
Grind love to a fine pigment
Ceasing to exist
On its own terms
And I the toad
And you the lily pad
Among the coarse masses
Which failed to open
But were caught up
In the great Dictator Brain
As molasses slowly fell
To earth
The year of my birth
You balk at comeback
And pardon me
If I go outside
My comfort zone
With a coxcomb
To sweep raindrops
Off my walk
Francis you can nit pic a lock
Or a brain release the refrain
You can cease a dream with waking
Cease a man with leaving
Whom you leave wrapped
In ever increasing shrouds of snow
Muffling the soft moans and wounds of Kilimanjaro
Of all things yours
Lips finally tuned
Were not my ruin
Although they were the perfect candidates
But the culprits were your eyes
Masterful sailors of epic excursion
From whose shorter version fell
To traps lured with sweet scented dew
Which served for clapper in a bell
To crack quips in liberty - freedom
Echo by any other name
Would not refrain as well
01/03/2014 Posted on 01/03/2014 Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Jim Benz on 01/04/14 at 01:08 AM This is beautiful, Phil. |
Posted by Elizabeth Shaw on 01/05/14 at 06:36 AM oh my how lovingly you adorn her, how beautiful a verse to alight the New Year. |
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 01/05/14 at 10:30 PM Wishing you a belated happy birthday (not too far off). Thoughts about the poem: Your poor mother what a difficult though most adventurous birthing. LOL!! |
Posted by Laura Doom on 01/14/14 at 11:52 PM As intricately woven and vitally expressive a tapestry of rhetoric I could ever wish to read. |
Posted by Amos Last on 01/22/14 at 07:46 AM nice read
it's always your birthday as each day is fresh anew. |
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