invisible

driven to jagged corners of self
excavating skin once shed
my pen digs through cinder piles
ash remnants of heart scabs
incinerated in furnace of self-immolation

once a foundry
producing mettle iron envied
                        folded
                        pounded
                        between John Henry will
&                                anvil of determination
into swords for defense, and vengeance
into tools, and farm implements
into cradles for children who have not come

instead of bottle
or            pipe,
I crawled into my womb of imagination
scraggy walls raising whelps from memory

sphincter for air
and lips to mumble words —
wishes so fragile in conception
they lie stillborn on my tongue

me and Ellison
invisible to ourselves
facing the mirror of our creations
lost between lines scribbled from inkwell eyes
read best on rain-soaked afternoons —
words ripped from wounds still raw
                   on command
persuaded the wine squeezings of misery’s sponge
are the brandy of desire

but these toxic spirits don’t leave you drunk
or                                                 blue,
sip this
and inhale death’s nightmare —
a talisman harvest ensuring endurance
                           denying surrender
or                                    any form of release

more distant than eskimo winter’s dawn
beyond reach of faith or prayer
there is a place where genius creeps
and no one sleeps at the bottom of gravity’s well —
pens don’t write
memory fails
and lockjaw mocks the mute

from this place
I dredge stones precious
& swamp-stained
coveted by chefs of carrion cuisine
framed on place mats in truck stop diners —
road kill rotisserie served as art

Ellison’s cup calls for refills from a distant booth —
                              blood espresso
                              whiskey liver latté
&                           champagne of curdled passions
served with a straw

by

jamal
ali

© 13 january 2003

future positive

I hear laughter in the rain
         joy splashing against my window pane
comfortable in my overstuffed chair
embraced by its fragrant leather
lost in a distant stare
logs of old oak crackle and hiss
flaming alive in the hearth
the musical incense of gentle jazz lingers in the air
I gaze at my child asleep in my arms
and I wonder at all this —
                   how the magic of this moment
was something I one time thought
I would forever miss

I gently smooth his eyebrow
He smiles faintly and shifts in slumber
and again I wonder at the marvelous gift
the simple presence one’s child can give

I used to despise the rain
it was a melancholy dirge —
but now when I hear thunder
&                 lightning streaks the sky
I gather my children to me,
we cuddle on couch or bed
I tell them stories
  read poetry
and listen to dreams and questions
that always fill their heads

I may be an artist
                 a writer
                 a gourmet cook
I may invent new machines and devices
or       publish a new book,
yet I know my most creative act
               my miracle
               my masterpiece
               the culmination of my fusion
is to help birth a child into this world
&    nurture this dream to full flower
within the haven of family union
and full awareness of their power

I never understood tears of joy before
I used to despise the rain,
now I hear laughter in the thunder
as lightning smiles across the sky

within my family gallery
the art is gathered ’round me —
a manifested dream so beyond words
all I can do is sigh

 

by

jamal
ali

© 24 april 1996