Showing posts with label César Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label César Love. Show all posts

César Love Poetry

Four Corners 
 
you share with me a picture of your sunset 
I would give one back to you 
But my balcony faces east
 
instead, I offer you 
A midnight 
dawn
And noon
 
three corners of the sky 
with your sunset, they are four 
one diamond of the night and day 
 

Orange 
In the grocery store aisle
one belly button orange with a scar 
others pristine, unblemished 
others soon to be sold
 
Between perfect sisters 
one unbidden sphere 
branded by two discolored inches 
not to be held 
not to be tasted
 
A globe passed over 
oceans never plunged 
forests never inhaled 
landscapes never painted
 
A world unfathomed 
with a navel and a canyon scar 
is the canyon east or west?
north or south? 
perhaps along her belly 
or across a breast
maybe against her cheek. 
 

Moonlight at Noon 
The Moon, My Shadow, and I make Three. – Li Po 
 
I would bake on this planet 
If not for the Moon I invited 
She agreed to let me keep her 
Tucked beneath my blouse 
Her cool face against my belly 

I lounge in her quiet 
I swim in her well 
I bloom in her sanity 
 
The Moon brought me a friend 
One who used to follow me 
She mimicked my every movement 
At first she flattered me 
Then she mocked me 
Finally, she ran away 
I screamed at her, 
Come back here! 
I tried to put a leash on her 
But she was too smart 
I threw a plum at her 
Of course, she thew one back 
We did this for months 
Then the Moon told me her name 
 

The Poet’s Tent 
North or South, she travels 
Always with her tent. 
On chosen ground, 
She slides its rods into the earth.
 
She places cloth on its frame. 
A cloth she imagined 
Something like a Mexican rebozo 
Something like an Amish quilt 
A cloth that exchanges colors 
That switches latticework 
Cloth that vibrates to the heartbeat of deer 
Cloth that answers the whispers of trees
 
The poet smooths the floor 
She unrolls her carpet 
Psychic knots detach from its tendrils: 
abandoned theories 
dropped desires 
jettisoned memories. 
They pulse on her floor. 
Soon to transform 
Soon to become 
feral opals 
protean metals 
iris crystals. 

She prepares the door 
Butterflies of every stripe arrive 
 
© César Love. All rights reserved. 
 
Cesar Love is a Latino poet influenced by the Asian masters. A resident of San Francisco’s Mission District, he is also an editor of the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal. He is the author of Birthright and While Bees Sleep. cesarlovepoetry.yolasite.com

Cesar Love Poetry

Inventory 

I am removing items from my refrigerator 
Cheeses that wouldn’t save 
Vegetables that had hoped for another day 
Strange meats forgotten in the attic 

There is rancid stuff in jars 
There is wilted stuff in baggies 
I acknowledge them and say good-bye 
In the basement 
There is a unique kind of sweet potato 
Which was given by a friend 
I had forgotten about them both 


Donut Shop 

most customers order theirs to go 

the glazed, the old fashioned, the maple bars 
they take them in small white bags 
the big orders in pink boxes 

there are also patrons who order “for here” 
they nest at the counter and at tables beside the window 
daydreams floating like buttermilk bars 
memories uncurling like cinnamon rolls 
amusements twirl 
ideas fancy as French twists

flavorsome steam ascends from the coffee pots 
dark roast, kona, or hazel 
refills on the house 

© Cesar Love. All rights reserved. 


Cesar Love is a Latino poet influenced by the Asian masters. A resident of San Francisco’s Mission District, he is also an editor of the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal

He is the author of Birthright and While Bees Sleep. 
cesarlovepoetry.yolasite.com

 

Cesar Love Poetry

Black Molasses 
by Cesar Love

Light cannot pass through me
I swallow every spark
I put out each candle I smother the streetlamp
I douse the lighthouse

The moon, the sun, and the day
Down they go in my distillery
Everything bright milled by my night
There I make them black like me
There I make them pure like me

When I am ready, I make the world sweet
Give me flour, I make gingerbread
Give me water, I become rum
Give me an audience, I become music

I am black molasses
I go the speed that I choose
They say I move slow, but really I move free
In this sugar, you meet freedom
In this, sugar, you become four-alarm cool
The bongo of minutes, the gong of the hours,
Simple flickers on the still of your soul

"Black Molasses" was previously published in Birthright by Cesar Love
© Cesar Love. All rights reserved.

Cheekbones 

The handsome Native
His cheekbones are not chiseled
He is not made of granite
He is not made of marble

The handsome Native
His cheekbones are flesh and bone
They have felt hurricanes
They have met tornadoes

The handsome Native
His face fathoms all weather
He has withstood hatred
He has withstood other small winds

© Cesar Love. All rights reserved.

Cesar Love is a Latino poet influenced by the Asian masters. A resident of San Francisco's Mission District, he is also an editor of the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal. His latest book is titled Birthright. His previous book While Bees Sleep was published by CC. Marimbo Press. cesarlovepoetry.yolasite.com

Rock Collection

By César Love

I seek escape, not in smoke
Not in drink
But in rocks I’ve gathered

None are boulders, few are pebbles
The perfect mass gorges my two hands

Hardness is my comfort, density my high.

The Black One brings me to outer space
The Purple, a utopian palace
The Orange, a feast devoured slowly
The Grey, a ferry to oblivion

My comedown is softness
Reality, a sinkhole in feathers

Below my pillow
I keep an opal


Always the Land

When the storms end, he is quiet to all but the deaf

Many hear the whispers of streams, the mumbles of rivers 
But below the threshold of a lapping pond
There are sounds as soft as a tadpole’s heartbeat

At volumes quieter than grass
The land delivers a wordless sermon
You are free to leave before the end, for the sermon has no end

Can you bear the spastic stillness?
If you can listen for ten minutes, you are free to ask a question.
If you can listen for an hour, you can ask for anything you need.

Ask what about your bees?
The trellis on your porch, broken by the eight-foot weeds
It’s painted and repaired, ready for the blossoms
To greet the sun and moon, ready for the blossoms
To welcome back the bees.
Listen to the honey spinning into gold

Ask what about the blackout?
Remember the fireflies you caught so long ago?
You hid them in a basement jar.
Realize you’re one of them.
Hands unlock the lid, hands let all of you free.
Listen to the land echoing your glow


Lake Chabot

Castro Valley, California

Blue water, mirror of day
Show us the breadth of the sky

Dark water, mirror of night
How lovely the moon on your throat

Sweet water, ripples and tides
Ladles of kisses
The brush of your tongue moistens our clay

Deep water, so certain the currents
Sleepless their movement
Sleepless your will

Still water, gentle the splashes
So peaceful your power
So quiet creation


The Sprinklers

Surprised on sunny park grass
The intrusion of sprinkler water
Hidden fountains meant for moonlight
Let loose by mistimed dials

An accidental shower
Perhaps you scamper from the grass
Safe and only a little wet
Perhaps they give you a hearty splash

Soaked or dry
Savor the wet sparklers
The cool of deepsome wells

This is not the Alhambra
This is not Niagara
Small rainbows

The rise and fall of water drops
An arc of musical notes
Spiring to the sky
In love enough
To fall to Earth.


© César Love. All rights reserved.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: César Love writes poems about displacement and the search for home. He can be found at open mics of the San Francisco Bay Area. His new book of poems is titled Birthright
http://cesarlovepoetry.yolasite.com/

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