Deo Remembers the Young Martina

by Josh Kight on March 9, 2017 · 0 comments

Deo Remembers

(The Young Martina)

Twitching in the trumpet vines

Where he laid down last night

Deo dreamed …….

That he was back

in the young Martina’s bed

Listening to every word she said

Back in the house on Blanco street.

Listening to a Latin beat

Back in his young body

Full of hunger and thunder.

But the Sunlight was brittle this morning

As he awakened

His joints loosened their clench

The fluids that pooled in his legs

Began to look for the trails

Back to his vessels

And he had to decide

Where he would eat

The day old muffin

From the shelter.

While he talked and dreamed

Of the young Martina

With her brown skin and Black eyes

And slight smell of sweat

Mingled with beer and Chanel.

Here and now

The sun doesn’t melt

The ice on the sticks

And warmth can’t be felt.

Frost perches on anything green

But the air is hard and clean

Time can be better passed

In the dream

With the young Martina.

Joshua Kight. 2/8/17

Portrait of Heather Portrait of Heather /acrylic /2015

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The Asking Poem

by Josh Kight on March 7, 2017 · 0 comments

What shall we ask for ?
A softer wind that sends
a simpler life?
A kettle for the kernels of love
that will last longer?
A quiet mind that doesn’t
pluck the feathers
off every beginning?

Please don’t make me go back
to my real life
where broken back Sundays
can’t crawl to safety
and even hiding under the couch
Can’t stop the leaks
in the top of my head.

When shall we ask for it?
When the floor cracks beneath
somber sacks of sins?
When the door flies open
and snow blows in?

We walk through dropping pollen
until there is only one villain
in the room

Portrait of Heather Portrait of Heather /acrylic /2015

and he is scratching at the walls
to get out.
I watch you attack the dinner
Before tasting the turkey
there is a sunken garden in your teeth
and walls of mud for me to walk through.

Who shall we ask?
Is there a burning idol
who can make a fake snake
from a pile of rocks?
Is there a flaming shrub
that won’t answer questions with riddles?
I am that I am
That I was, That I will be.

Joshua Kight 11/28/16

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