Black Capricorn Day

By now you know the world and all it’s ways
In your ripped up jeans that just about hold up dreams
and aspirations, you stay
running into realizations and epiphanies
and violence in the city like you got nine lives
thinking you can overcome lousy luck
with liquid luck and a really long drive,
your choice is rum and mine is wine
and sippin on em we slip on memories
do you remember the time
your head was down for a couple days
cause you lost your job and the rent for the place you stay
coming face to face with this ikkle thing called fate
was really testing you, raising questions in you
contemplating changes you could make
Can you really spend your life this way
Coming off aggressively or too apprehensively
I suggestively have my say,
thats it’s easier to express Black Capricorn Days
than squeeze rhymes out of days that go your way
imagine all the lines left unsaid
If Monday to Sunday was comfortably comfy
and the mental thoughts of aligning in the stars
didn’t leave you hungry
if you stopped judging the cover you might discover
that’s how the books meant to be read,
In your ripped up jeans that just about hold up dreams
perhaps here’s where you’re meant to have stepped
so mornings evolve into rolling out of bed
with a battered up back and a clear head,
steady your vision your climb,
from corners and streets picking up pace
and peace of mind, unwind
into the futile notion you could be up there too
with every other solar source aligned,
looking back down on Black Capricorn Days


Most of the time we write when we are uncomfortable
or we do it to speak for those that can’t speak for themselves
about things that promised to stay the same, and didn’t
so instead we have to change
which is just like being nervous when a conversation starts
although a lot of time has passed
since way back when all I knew was words that rhymed
and poetry in three lines
we realize that change is overdue
and things do, it’s weird
sometimes we welcome it with open arms, or wish
we hadn’t thought ahead so far
and it’s not everyday but I still sit and watch the skyline fade
from color to stars
sanctuary is always the other-side of the horizon so here we are
Standing at the top of a city
I think evolution never reached us
because we are nowhere near as free as birds
who look down from above and fly around for harmless fun
and yet we have a point to make, rewrite fate
if you believe in that
we might sound shy when we call for change but
through nervous laughs, stutters and croaks
you can just about hear vocals and notes
and dream overnight dreams that materialize wings
and save us

XIV. War

It was only now, looking back in borrowed sight, she understood just how naive she had been.
She had been blind to the ways of people.

Catalina believed that when the world spoke, it did so with conviction, with truth.
But she was deaf to it’s slander, it’s malice, it’s torment.

Her actions had arisen only out of love, out of hope.
But now they were feelings she wished she could banish, for what good can they do?

She was face to face with their consequences.
Her family face to face with war.

©, 2015

VIIII. Sicilia In Childhood

The Story Torcello told Tomaso

The island was a patio door that opened into a thousand stories.
Rock pools laced the coastline, waters of plunging deep blue and silver,
brimming with all manner of exotic sea life.
The marble coloured cobbled streets would lure with the sweet smell of roasting chestnuts, freshly picked from Castagno dei Cento Cavalli (The Hundred Horse Chestnut).

In the summer, his mother would send him to forage for spices, sweet cherries, clove corns, peppers and the last of the warm weather’s apriocots.

Every Wednesday, multicoloured tents and tepees rose for Market. A weekly breath of life for the old town square.
Woman busy buying pastrami and fresh foccacia for their husbands, Men bartering a good price for local Arenaria (Sicilian sandstone).

To Tomaso this was hard to understand. Why buy rock when you are surrounded by honey coated cantuccini, coffee bread with crushed pistachios, gelato spheres in pastry cloaks.
As a child, he was tempted with his eyes and led by his stomach.

When he thought he could get away with it (and there was only one time he did not) he would sneakily pocket two warm nougat with jellied almond jam from the stall with the yellow sash posts.

One for him, one for his brother.

©, 2015