Jalapeno Pepper Blog

from the chapbook “Making the Beds for the Dead”

Front Page

It’s the photograph that does it.
A man howling for his child.
You can’t forget it
despite a let up in the rain,
sunlight on a river,
a flight of geese over an estuary.
It’s a rucksack of sorrow
on your shoulder, on your mind.

Try leaving it on the platform
to be defused like a suspect package.
Try leaving it on the train,
personal belongings
they remind you to take.
Try to lose, bin, burn it,
indestructible as polythene
of flowers in a filthy stairwell.

Maybe just this once
we should forego the minute’s silence.
Maybe this time, in supermarket,
street and school and public square,
studio, station, stadium,
standing together, eyes closed,
we should throw back our heads
for a one minute howl.

Carcanet Press

i lie myself prostrate before you
face up, sincere,
whoever you are that are
that view yourself as the
superior race

for i am
of the melting pot
the lowest among you
we
of many races
know good people do bad things
we save our scorn for the bad things
we still love the people for
we are all one
when you join us
“hate” will be eradicated
dialogue will be pleasant
and so, what if, as if,
we never find perfect
we will have created
a more perfect union.

~

what is this/that face reflected?
right, so differently marked
than the left
turn to the right
see the crying left eye
tears withheld
streaks run
from cheek to chin
turn left now
there’s still a question and love
eye that winks itself
a slight tip of the eyebrow
below a cheek a mosaic
of words unspoken

look away look away
it’s Sunday morning
somewhere may there be peace
he said, “If you have something to say
you can say it now instead of later.”

well later is now and i can understand
deeper than i knew you suffered
for your sanity

they tell me you lookin’ good mi amigo,
strong buffalo heart man
thank you for the bird flutter
i held
o so short of life time
o so long of sand time

~

~

love is in the air
might be found most anywhere
catch mi if you can

~

.

firstly i love You
for bringing me et al
nature and life in all it’s glory

i love you not so much
when you tell us something
we find hard to believe you know

like tonight
saying how much pain cranes are feeling
flying over the Himalayas
please forgive me for wanting the facts –
and/or do you have a scientific way
of measuring cranes pain?

lastly i love you for making the point
we
are
all
one.

.

.

the poet said,
“Evil must get tired sometime.”

of the eons of life on planet Earth
evil was given personified,
two thousand twelve years ago
or +five thousand depending
on who’s measuring,
unlike Prometheus
this personification
of evil
was given
the hour
of it’s own dissolution
something burning in the kitchen?
someone smoking sulphur?
hell no, it is not the Earth and everything in it
it is evil remembering
the trade off
wait
but yet
where there is life there is hope
to every season
change, change, change, change
at time for tears
a time to let go
turn, turn, turn, turn

shake hands with your sister Kate
my Jake
shake hands with your neighbour Sam
welcome back as the flowers in May
dear ol’ country boy

.

?

i’s and u’s and barbeques
if’n i can find u’s laugh
will the chopin’ dickens
remind me of the good god
of humour or hum our
song all night long do u
remember neither do i
the matter is only
are we still singing
day by day
hear the daughters
they are drumming as it was said
needs happen
the fat lady sang long ago
when we saw her Rubenesque
instead of fatso still the sir
oh will he hear the drumming
soon?
flashing thunder hummingbird heart
and every drum in between
to the soft peaceful
elder’s

above the smiling lips and eyes
is ur brow furled / unfurled
ur breathing smooth or not

drop my teeth
ask for your phone number
oh
maybe u forgot how to laugh
(could you give me a real,
seemingly good laugh
and save me for this evening
from night shift
in the salt of mines.)

?