Old Boy poem – A. Van Jordan poems

If one rainy night you find yourself
leaving a phone booth, and you meet a man
with a lavender umbrella, resist
your desire to follow him, to seek
shelter from the night in his solace.
Later, don’t fall victim to the Hypnotist’s
narcotic of clarity, which proves
a curare for the heart; her salve
is merely a bandage, under which memories
pulse. Resist the taste for something still
alive for your first meal; resist the craving
for the touch of a hand from your past.
We live some memories,
and some memories are planted. There’s
only so much space for the truth
and the fabrications to spread out
in one’s mind. When there’s no more
space, we grow desperate. You’ll ask
if practicing love for years in your mind,
prepares you for the moment,
if practicing to defend one’s life
is the same as living? You’ll
hole up, captive, in a hotel room
for fifteen years and learn to find
a man within you, which will prove
a painful introduction to the trance
into which you were born. Better
to stay under the spell of your guilt,
than to forget; you’ve already released
your pain onto the world; don’t believe
there’s some joy in forgetting.
There’s no joy in the struggle to forget.
And what appears as an endless verdant field,
only spreads across a building’s rooftop;
your peaceful sleep could be a fetal position,
which secures you in a suitcase in this field.
A bell rings, and you fall out of this luggage
like clothes you no longer fit. Now what to do?
You remember when you were the man
who fit those clothes, but you’ve forgotten this
world. Even forgotten scenes from your life,
leave shadows of the memory,
haunting your spirit
until, within a moment’s glance,
strangers passing you on the street,
observe history in your eyes. Experience
lingers through acts of forgetting,
small acts of love or trauma
falling from the same place. Whether
memory comes in the form of a stone
or a grain of sand, they both sink in water.
A tongue—even if it were, say, sworn
to secrecy; or if it were cut from one’s mouth;
yes, even without a mouth to envelop
its truth—the tongue continues to confess.

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Poems in English 

• Occupy the Wall Street by Sunil Sharma by Sunil Sharma
• Morale by Sunil Sharma by Sunil Sharma
• Finding freedom from invisible bonds by Sunil Sharma by Sunil Sharma
• Birds heavenly by Sunil Sharma by Sunil Sharma
• Afternoon song by Sunil Sharma by Sunil Sharma
• A daily prayer by a kid by Sunil Sharma by Sunil Sharma
• A beach dawn by Sunil Sharma by Sunil Sharma
• The Pretense of Gathering Pebbles by the Shore by Syed Kawsar Jamal by Poetry In English
• The Magician by Syed Kawsar Jamal by Poetry In English
• Sunday Morning by Susan King Saunders by Poetry In English
• Sitting atop the mountain hill by Swami Aaron Thomas by Poetry In English
• Shattered Dreams by SWARAJ PRASAD by Poetry In English
• Romantic Hour by Suuk Simon Subinimah by Poetry In English
• Rememberance of that Power by sylvan lightbourne by Poetry In English
• Protest poem by Susan King Saunders by Poetry In English
• Od’d(ode) to Whitey Bulger by Susan King Saunders by Poetry In English
• Michelle Obama Tribute by Susan King Saunders by Poetry In English
• Little Girl Dancing by Susan King Saunders by Poetry In English
• Independent at Birth by Suuk Simon Subinimah by Poetry In English
• I am not ashamed of myself by Swami Aaron Thomas by Poetry In English

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Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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