Never offer your Heart to
someone who eats Hearts
Alice Walker
Never offer your heart to
someone who eats hearts
who finds heartmeat
delicious
but not rare
who sucks the juices
drop by drop
and bloody-chinned
grins
like a God.
Never offer your heart
to a heart gravy lover.
Your stewed, overseasoned
heart consumed
he[she] will sop up your grief
with bread
and send it shuttling
from side to side
in his mouth
like bubblegum.
If you find yourself
in love
with a person
who eats hearts
these things
you must do:
Freeze your heart
immediately.
Let him--next time
he examines your chest--
find your heart cold
flinty and unappetizing.
Refrain from kissing
lest he in revenge
dampen the spark
in your soul.
Now,
sail away to Africa
where holy women
await you
on the shore--
long having practiced the art
of replacing hearts
with God
and Song.
---==---
[i just learned that- why do i always learn the hard way?]
the hard way burns and scars deep. feel it.
numb to the pain.[lies]
just don't want to show 'em.
why? i ........don't know
go ahead ......hurt me.[lies]
at least i won't forget.]
guess i'll just listen to this here music....
John Hammond, Junior Wells
"driftin blues"
"dreamy eyed girl"
Buddy Guy- THE MAN.
"Help me"- sonny boy williamson
i gotta dust off that Edwin Starr stuff....
that time ...... again.
---==---
AFRICA!?
Two poems from Trauits de la nuit
Jean Joseph Rabéarivelo
Madagascar-
from Novelle Anthologie de la poésie négre et malgache-
LS Senghor-1948 and
Modern Poetry of Africa -Moore & Beler 1963
She
whose eyes are prisms of sleep
and whose lids are heavy with dreams,
she whose feet are planted in the sea
and whose shiny hands appear
full of corals and blocks of shining salt,
She will put them in little heaps beside a misty gulf
and sell them to naked sailors
whose tongues have been cut out,
until the rain begins to fall.
Then she will disappear
and we shall only see
her hair spread by the wind
like a bunch of seaweed unravelling,
and perhaps some tasteless grains of salt.
---==---
The black glassmaker
whose countless eyeballs none has ever seen,
whose shoulders none has overlooked,
that slave all clothed in pearls of glass,
who is strong as Atlas
and who carries the seven skies on his head,
one would think that the vast river of clouds might carry him away,
the river in which his loincloth is already wet.
A thousand particles of glass
fall from his hands
but rebound towards his brow
shattered by the mountains
where the winds are born.
And you are witness of his daily suffering
and of his endless task;
you watch his thunder-riddled agony
until the battlements of the East re-echo
the conches of the sea--
but you pity him no more
and do not even remember that his sufferings begin again
each time the sun capsizes. |
