The Kindly Ones, Thou False Oaf

i.

The kindly ones await you
with furious patience

graciously weep for you
tears of blood

rivulets of corrosion
gnawed into their cheeks.

Brushing the snakes
out of their eyes

they pull tight
the twitch and flex of leather

of wing
of scourge

pull tight
raw hide weave

on the shining
bronze
studs.

ii.

The wrathful lordosis
of flanks

blacker than black
unvexed nightmares

thighs unmoved
but not slow

banks
of low coals

snatches of pale fire
gelid coils

of unhymned lightning
the terrible

swift soar
and lash

too kind to be kith
cold to be kin

implicates
the infold
of cruel fates

infer below thou
false oaf.

2 responses to “The Kindly Ones, Thou False Oaf

  1. What harmony to come in from the cold of a short early morning walk with Isaac the Pup to find your dog-walking poem on my desk. Thanks, Dr. Omed.
    Dr. Nathan

  2. Full Moon: This Moment of Changing

    This moment of changing
    seems to me
    (the blasé one)
    very little different
    from how old doldrums were.
    I am not surprised when changes come––
    they will, you know––
    but I am surprised
    at the ardent atavism
    which confronts me from myself
    when I am on my way
    to a new place.
    Another I
    I never knew could be
    raises its head,
    gnars through its canine teeth,
    hisses a bark
    to block my way.
    We carry sticks
    to fend away
    our lupine selves,
    gnarled staffs
    from old oaks
    to keep ourselves in line,
    out of the way.
    What are they saying,
    these werewolves of the inner heart?
    Why are they afraid now,
    at the threshold of new glory?
    Are these the fearful,
    raging,
    tearful,
    hurt,
    withdrawn,
    now-dead babies,
    residuals of our having been
    hurt as children
    abandoned and afraid?
    Shall we chain them in the dark cave?
    Shall we leave them behind,
    take our leave
    to new grandeur
    for ourselves
    solitarily,
    as competent
    confident adults?
    Better,
    put our petulant pets
    up on the seat
    beside us in the car,
    on a pillow
    from where they can see
    the world we shall traverse.
    God bless me
    with the ability
    to change
    not only with the fullness of the moon
    but also with the fullness of the moment,
    and let me take with me
    not only the smiling man I seem
    but also the grimacing monster
    who tries to protect me from all change,
    my werewolf,
    my mascot,
    my totem
    whom I need
    to nurture.

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