Moonplum

a plum, a moon
the moon’s a plum
………………..
plum sighed one night
(I was not dreaming),
by day though, was mute
as twilight in a black hole
so could not be seen
or heard or smelt,
could not be bit,
nor felt
…………………….
in its nest of sight this mind-plum is white
—or bloody red depending upon
atmosphere and height

in its nest of sound this mind-plum’s rim
may be misshapen as the trumpet peal
a drunken Gabriel can’t recind
or have a bent-string guitarist’s bluesy feel

Juan Smith & Pocahantas knew this moon
in Jamestown (as I did in N. J.
in the Hudson glimmering away)
. . .

but this moon’s not that plum

this moon or plum is plucked
in orchards, but by whom? 

Jesus from Oaxaca picks plums with Juan
and Sal, his sons, and wife Gloria
who are paid in disrespect
by plum-suckers in Peoria

moons are plucked by seers,
or poets  looking to get laid
plums are plucked by families in extremis
hoping to be paid

John Smith & Pocahantas are the stuff of myth
like mind-moon plums and immigrants
who come with special gifts

…………………….
Jim Culleny; May 2009
……………………….
……………………..

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