The Persian Carpet

The Persian Carpet i am dripping in the shower of your love my skin wet where i lie at your feet and the scent is both soft like lavender and pungent like sacramental wine but the winds drifting off the sea and through an open window cool me where i rest shamelessly naked and spread cruciform on the floor across a carpet that you say is of royal Persian descent smuggled here at an incredible cost and under threats of death to you and all of yours it is stained you confess from all the men who have come before me but i do not mind the bleach of a spot here or there in the twist of its silk tapestry for it is mine to lie upon and stain for now Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

a life alone ...

a life alone ... In the tumble of sleep she remembers something vague a tattoo along a sinewy forearm a scent of summer from a distant land a voice low and gentle a sudden thrust and a calm collapse  over her willingly pinned body And in that memory her breath hesitates stops and then catches fire in her breasts until her lips explode in a sudden release of stale air pushing memory away from desire and desire away from longing until in an unconscious gasp she wakes to breathe in the fresh certainty of a life alone Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

Love and Death

Love and Death         it's a long climb sister         it's a long climb brother         it will be a long climb to Heaven         unless we learn to love one another Marty Schoendienst stood by the piano the slick fingers of his right hand greasing the ivory two octaves above middle c and he stood like that for maybe an hour maybe more until finally Louise Feldstone came floating down the stairs floating on a sea of crinolines beneath her grandmother's ivory wedding dress highlighted so daintily by a choker of rubies and sapphires and just as she reached the bottom and took a sharp turn into the parlour she saw Marty at the piano with a gun hanging from his left fist and before she could blink in amazement before her bright red lips could even whisper, "Stop" she saw the barrel light up and felt the cold killing whisk of only the first shot         it's a long climb sister         it's a long climb brother         it will be a long climb to Heaven         unless we learn to love one another someone died tonight but i guess it wasn't you and i'm pretty sure it wasn't me but there's the buzz of police cars everywhere outside yellow jackets chewing through the timbre of some late-night ragtime blues gnawing like a migraine at a simple song telling a sad story under a jazzy overlay the downbeat insistent and still echoing through the house still a white-hot melody bleeding from the pursed violaceous lips of a chocolate-coloured woman with a sarong wrapped indiscreetly over her thick thighs oozing out from beneath her thick belly full of lead and still she sings through the forever hallways of time a sad requiem with a sadder rhyme "Oh, sweet baby, bring that song home to me "Oh, sweet honeychile, be my Jesus and set me free"         it's a long climb sister         it's a long climb brother         it will be a long climb to Heaven         unless we learn to love one another                  Louise Feldstone's wedding was postponed pretty much indefinitely but her funeral was held almost right away and a whole lot of folks showed up even though not many wanted to stay but at the trial of Marty Schoendienst they lined up for hours and hours just to see that slick gun-toting lover who fired the fatal shot and turned Miss Louise's future into just another funeral plot until one day as the sun began to wane there was one helluva commotion in the gloom of the courthouse light when Louise's memaw reached out with an especially long cane of solid hickory or ash that found its way through the thick air of retribution and came down with a crash to smash Marty's head in two just before the jury shuffled in from the back with guilty on their minds and a five-year sentence scrawled on a spiral notepad and some said justice was thwarted that day while others were heard to say that Marty got what he deserved and would burn through eternity for the murder of Louise Feldstone be it first or second degree         it's a long climb sister         it's a long climb brother         it will be a long climb to Heaven         unless we learn to love one another if i had a penny i'd pull it from my pocket and toss it on the bed between your legs where the sheets are threadbare and smell like mustard i'd even up the ante and toss you a couple of bills maybe a couple of Andrew Jackson's if only you would tell me what's on your mind when you roll over in the night and murmur another man's name when you tumble over or under me this way or that flip me or dip me right up to the climactic final scene only to leave me squirming for delight in the theatre of passion as you skip out the back EXIT skip out just before the hero dies and collapses stage-right and in that silent moment of your leaving all i can hear is your raspy voice moaning and mumbling "It's just not the same"         it's a long climb sister         it's a long climb brother         it will be a long climb to Heaven         unless we learn to love one another Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

and i wonder ...

and i wonder ... and i wonder after years of silence i wonder how painful life must have been how cruel the strangers you called family and friends how desperate the need how tragic the loss how intense the desire how meaningless the love how crushing the failure how hopeless the effort and i wonder after years of waiting i wonder why i was there when you stood up from a threadbare chair with your spiky red hair and lit a match to yourself to become a candle burning down to wick's end until all that you were every dream and promise disappeared in a puff of smoke drifting into the gasping air from a pool of blood-red wax Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

bright eyes ...

bright eyes  ...   for my daughter who beat the odds and for all the children who didn't get to go home  in the cancer ward they dance like elves and fairies sprinkled with magic  some wearing  a cotton cap with the hospital logo on the side others not so self-conscious who come racing by with a strand of hair carving a jet stream through the antiseptic air like a flag flying high above the ramparts signalling in the rocket's red glare i am still present i am still here in this pyjama world no one is crying or even sighing in despair and certainly no one is praying or pleading to escape that one door out that exit to eternity that swings open every day because for now  theirs is the kingdom the power and the glory to dance and sing and laugh outrageously when  the scrubs i wear fall a little to starboard and reveal a serious crack that tarnishes my dignity but polishes their cheeks and noses  with bright colour as they roll and tumble  over beds on wheels  and moon one another in a parody  of my shattered dignity  only looking back to be sure that i am smiling too in the corners of the ward their mothers or their fathers and rarely both sit with steel faces and eyes of anguish eyes that sparkle only on cue and then drift away again and why not they have  been summoned as witnesses to  an execution almost as if this place steams with a stench from the hallways of Auschwitz and so they count time instead of living  in time Magritte of the Leukaemia League whispers in my ear and asks if i have a lover i turn to look into her  practised bedroom eyes nodding my head as i smile uncomfortably and she is emboldened  by my response and wonders aloud if  i make love every night stunned  i hesitate and in that split second of eternity her eyes ignite and  she squeals away  in a convulsion  of absolute pleasure  collapsing in her breathlessness into the arms of David of Team Teratoma  and she cups her hand over her mouth in the event that i might be a lip reader and murmurs in his ear something that giddies him into delirium and i laugh knowing what he knows until finally he finds his young hip his rock 'n' roll cool and walks over to me stumbling over puppy footsteps but wearing the smirk of a man four times his age until at last he hugs my knee and speaks to me  in a voice of whispers "I hope you have a nice baby a strong baby  with living blood and no tumours and many  many T cells so I can come by  to dance with her at her wedding when I am well" Copyright © Kennedy James, 2011. All rights reserved.

sometimes love goes somewhere ...

sometimes love goes somewhere ... sometimes love goes somewhere sometimes squeezes out the bathroom window with the steam from a hot morning shower sometimes curls off into the starlit skies with the smoke of a summer campfire and if you chance to see it going be sure to say "goodbye" "so long" or maybe just "farewell" unless of course you're in a mood then just go ahead and grumble "oh, what the hell" sometimes love goes somewhere sometimes checks out while you're in the kitchen making toast sometimes bolts out the back door when you're on the front porch watching the neighbourhood kids slipping in and out of the twilight while playing hide 'n' seek and crashing into trees or dancing after fireflies just before night sometimes love goes somewhere sometimes catches a bus and goes downtown to watch the latest horror flick sometimes steals the keys to the car and swaggers over to the McDonald's drive-thru for a Big Mac and super-sized fries then stops in the Legion parking lot to eat alone but i guess that comes as no surprise sometimes love goes somewhere sometimes storms out the front door after a harsh word or two sometimes floats off across the lake on a rubber raft while you're catching some rays asleep on the beach and it never calls back for help out there even as it drifts far out of reach sometimes love goes somewhere sometimes kidnaps the kids you never had sometimes goes behind your back and gets a sad tattoo of a broken heart inscribed underneath with the word "Regret" an ink stain that leaves you breathless as you crawl helplessly under the bed sheets and try not to remember what you'll never forget sometimes love goes somewhere sometimes runs away without a reason and maybe joins the circus sometimes buys a plane ticket on the Internet and flies off to Belize books into some cheap resort and for a week or two drinks just enough local beer and smokes just enough dirty dope to erase the hopes it had for you sometimes love goes somewhere sometimes it sleeps in the other room sometimes it even elopes with your ex and drives to Vegas to get married at the Church of Elvis and if all this makes your dreams seem pretty small just remember that sometimes sometimes love goes nowhere at all Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

i'm living in the forest now ...

i'm living in the forest now ... i'm living in the forest now past where the river flows into the lake over Precambrian rock and purple thistle down an unbeaten path through the shimmering poplar leaves that turn the brightest yellow just before the coming of snow i'm living in the shadows now dressed in rags and straw while hanging from a wooden cross to chase away the blue-black crows who spy me slipping away from life away from where i no longer find myself whole i'm living away from tenderness now embattled by some constant sorrow that sketches your face in the flames of firelight and through the cracks of each dark hour i know i am slowly disappearing from time but nothing here cares enough to hold me back i'm living a tumbledown existence now stealing solace from fragile memories of the days when we were we the hopeful hours before you let life go and if i dream of you under the blanket of starry sleep i do not remember dreaming when i wake i'm living for just myself now a half of what i was before but somehow i still hear your voice softly singing in the wind that ripples through the shimmering poplar leaves that turn the brightest yellow just before the coming of snow Copyright © Kennedy James, 2011. All rights reserved.

This Old House ...

This Old House ... This old house has fared me well Halfway to paradise, halfway from hell I got radishes in the garden But I don't eat them anymore I prefer a sweet peach or honeymelon Or something fresh from Steadman's store I got a piano on the porch That still rattles out rock 'n' roll I got a woman in the cellar Screaming, "Sweet Jesus, save my soul!" This old house has fared me well Halfway to paradise, halfway from hell I got a well out back But the water has a peculiar stink All I can offer is Old Pete's moonshine If you're inclined to want a drink I got a piano on the porch Plays real good 'cept it's missing middle C I got a woman in the cellar Screaming, "Sweet Jesus, hear my plea!" This old house has fared me well Halfway to paradise, halfway from hell Some days people comes to visit Some days no one comes at all Folks are like boats adrift on the prairie sea And seems like this place ain't no one's port of call I got a piano on the porch Full o' downbeat blues for the malcontent I got a woman in the cellar Screaming, "Sweet Jesus, I repent!" This old house has fared me well Halfway to paradise, halfway from hell Seems I lived here more than a hundred years Good times, bad times and some hard to know Last summer the wife run off with the Fuller Brush man Only got her back for good about two weeks ago I got a piano on the porch Plays a pretty mean ragtime even in a minor key I got a woman in the cellar Screaming, "Sweet Jesus, set me free!" Copyright © Kennedy James, 2011. All rights reserved.

if ...

if ... if i ask you for the final ounce of your love pour it in a glass and as you hand it to me let it spill upon the floor and remind me how i once told you that love has no limit and is for evermore if i cry out in the darkness and ask you to find a priest to hear my last confession ignore the weakness of my anguish and the selfishness of my pain and remind me how i once believed that life continues joyfully like the laughter of ephemeral children dancing in the rain if i plead for some last mercy and woo you in my softest voice to pull the tubes and wires from my decaying body or i coax you to ignite a bullet from its cruel and patient barrel remind me of how my will once stood bravely between you and every peril if i sleep long past the sunrise and push your waking kisses from the fever of my brow or from the hollow of my cheek do not be rebuked by such a weak and trembling shove and remind me how the strength of faith in one another is the doorway that opens to the promise of love if my tears catch fire in the candlelight and melt the sinews of your determination let the wind blow in from the window until every flickering flame falters and goes cold and when every shadow begins to unravel remind me that you are waiting and that death is only certain for those without a destination and without a lifetime still to travel Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

the children on the street ...

the children on the street ... the children on the street dance to the music of the rain stagger from puddle to puddle under newspaper tents dance and prance translucent like ghosts or angels memories or expectations wet and uneven beneath the failing umbrella of time steeped with the echoing patter of laughter and for a moment i am lost drifting away from this room of candles and Earl Grey tea drifting and disappearing into yesterday into the nostalgia of things missed slowly dissolving behind a veil of mist that stops just short of tears until you reach for my hand hold me like an anchor and whisper, "Please, not now ..." now and then now and then bookends to all the words i have poured over the brow of life always believing i could lift the world from the fount and wash it clean with a simple blessing the mistake of every saviour who believes that saving the world will also be the moment of personal salvation but the disappointments of time the anger and the rage never subsided never flowed with the rainwater between the dead leaves along the curbside and into the gutter and even when the sun broke through grey clouds still i saw shadows beneath the bright flowers i smiled the afternoon you carried wild flowers from the roadside wove them into my hair and looked through my eyes like only a lover could and declared me your prince of daisies i loved you then more than pleasure more than hurt and for a time i believed we would be together forever until the day of parting beat through the door and i realised a promise is not a vow Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

last train to evermore ...

last train to evermore ... i was drowning in pity under the swoon of blue starlight pain over pain and then pain again if only i could see right and then see right i guess i'd see the plan so simple and so plain i saw you in the station by the candy machine light you were buying truth wrapped in some shiny silver foil i saw the curve of your wings still ragged from flight and wet not from rain but from love's holiest oil i sighed by the turnstile and maybe missed the height of the hope and the trust in your quiet eyes almost gave up everything without so much as a fight almost missed the last train to evermore that lit up the skies i blinked at the darkness that your presence made bright dumbfounded too long i have wished for my death or for life over the edge of this endless night until with a simple kiss you gave me my next breath Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

the blood oranges ...

the blood oranges ... you bring blood oranges under the naked sheets of the creaking bed where you peel each one with delicate fingers ignoring the confusion of fruit exploding in a shower of sweet juice a drizzle of sticky essence that you lick afterwards with a tiny laugh as you throw your head down over my body and suck the red stain from my freckled skin and i awaken from disinterest to desire lost beneath your soft lips and the currents of your passion that ebb and flow like a scarlet tide washing my body clean and in this baptism of your sweet salivation your wet tongue dissects out the crudely singular i of a separate life waning and transforms the moment with the healing waters of love's salvation a liquescent absolution of my narcissistic solitude a gentle rescue that revokes the murky sins of my selfishness too long seething beneath the cracked soil of ageing disdain overgrown with the dry weeds of my complacency until at last i am submerged amniotic and awash with a yearning to be born into a renewed discovery of you my lips finding the way and falling on the fruit you offer tasting the succulent red pulp behind the mottled peeling skin that divides and opens under the coaxing of my mouth until at last i relent after the shudder of your release my every thought drifting to forgetful invisibility as i drown beneath the flood of you and dissolve with you into an ecstasy that rebukes both time and timelessness Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

when ... a poem for my daughter

when ... a poem for my daughter when you were young and you leapt from your bed in an eerie arc through space and there was a certainty in your eyes that i would catch you before broken bones catch you in strong arms that you believed held up the weight of all the world when laughter fell from your eyes and formed puddles in our basement room during the rainy season of miracles when there was a home a place for you and me to dance in uncertain circles down the hallway and out the back door across the silent lawn and into forever when music defined yesterday and tomorrow and today was like a full rest pause between the melody and the bridge and i heard you sing in a crowded auditorium your voice soaring to perfect pitch over the riot of tears streaming from my eyes when there was a family a simple snapshot of the us hanging proudly by the staircase before it faded slowly into hurt and separation when there was time for love and unspoken faith and every breath was just a gasp away from giddy when there was all that and more a collection of puzzle fragments that mysteriously fell into place i watched in wonder as the colourful pieces fit together and blended softly to capture the perfect portrait of a lady safe behind the glass of a perfect frame but now i can only guess that i did not hold up my end of the bargain the forever promise to catch you soaring in mid-air because for all my searching and despite every hopeful prayer these arms are empty now and i can't find you anywhere Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.

from Songs of Ani

3 the morning sun steams through a break in the bamboo curtains and drizzles through a veil of dust over Ani's body where she lies on the bed unadorned but for a gold chain curling around her thin neck beneath a cascade of feathers falling from her hair her skin is soft and young like a blank page from a notebook smooth and white waiting only for time to write its inevitable story in black ink smudges across her beauty and crease such pristine alabaster with cruel lines of experience and though i hesitate between the longing and the first kiss between the imagined readiness and the unexpected sensation i claim my place in the first pages of her story as i scrawl simple lines of paradoxical poetry across her willing flesh and tattoo her with a simple prologue and a complicated warning to every man who travels her body a simple caution that everything perfect easily flames into fulfilment only to lose its miraculous first spark that is too soon extinguished in a bed of grey ashes Copyright © Kennedy James, 2011. All rights reserved.

the future ...

the future ... behind the curtains of frost morning's light crackles through the black limbs of frozen trees a shiver traces a distant memory and wakes me from my dream to air so still that it pleads for sound rum pa pum pum faces familiar thaw the icy mist of unconsciousness and with the warmth of love stronger arms lift me up sure hands become fingers of feeling and wake my heart pa rum pa pum pum i remember you saying that the world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places and so i stand on one good leg and march with the many in hobbled footsteps rum pa pum pum the road not taken converges with the road i chose where i see a final future stretch before me and crashing through yesterday's stark silence at last i hear tomorrow's child striking the drum each reassuring beat on beat calling me forward pa rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum Copyright © Kennedy James, 2012. All rights reserved.