MENACE OF MORNING
Menace of morning,
The bright Sun that I did not witness,
Gives pleasant revenge this morning
To a pleasant recipient of its rays.
How my parched throat longs for your sweet
Light of day, as if my arms and legs,
On my brow, wrinkless now, that anxiety
Has not furrowed with his angst thinking.
Sorrow increases as the Sun decreases
In the sky. My old chums, Sun and Moon,
Give direction and consolation to my day.
Where they are, I am here.
I am always here, you are always there.
There is a paradox that says if we are
Separated by infinitesimal moments
We never loved each other. Paradoxum.
NIGHT THOUGHTS ABOUT THOUGHTS
A day well spent with myself.
I started translating a French poet.
I read some stories in basic German.
Mostly I heard myself thinking
And I was sparked to put pen to paper
Listening to some stories read on the radio.
Late at night I realized love is loving
Others in your life sometimes some
More than others. You need loving others
To love yourself, so I thank the world,
If I can be so grandiose, for populating
My world when I’m open to appreciation.
SEAGULLS
The seagulls are singing once again this morning
Stopping to rest from one body of water to another.
My attempt too is to batter my way through life
With purpose and resolution resting along the way
For rest and a strengthening of thought. Gone.
Now there is the silence of seagulls as I do not
Hear them, but I opine the loss of their voices,
Though I hear hope calling incessantly like a
Heartbeat. It calls me to face the day in its call
To arms, a stiffening of my back, a jotting down.
IDIOMATIC
Electric candlelight
And xylophonic images.
Synaesthetic confusion...
To barrel in,
Line up the marks
And shoot straight.
The American idiom
Is as good as any other
Idiom.
Idioms are divergent ways
To say the same thing
In any language.
That’s brotherhood.
The love of any language,
Yours, theirs.
HAIKUS
“Ask me why it’s cold?”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“You answered my question.”
The air is getting warmer.
No more heavy coats.
Mountain streams flow again.
The heat is stifling.
I’m sweating like a pig.
My teeth taste like ice...
I feel alive.
My nose tip cold.
Is the Sun for sale?
I’m a lazy bear.
I slept away the winter.
Do I smell honey?
I see the croci.
Buds of the honeysuckle shrub.
Whitman in my ear.
Michael La Bombarda has published six books of poetry that are available on Amazon, and he is soon to publish a novel called Searcher there. He has published in numerous little magazines. He is retired and lives in New York City and studies and reads in six different languages albeit with some difficulty.
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