a plum, a moon
moon’s a plum
………………..
plum sighed one night
I wasn’t dreaming
but by day was mute
as twilight in a black hole,
so could not be seen
or heard or smelt,
could not be bit,
tasted by a tongue
nor by fingers felt
…………………….
in its nest of sight this mind-plum is white
—or bloody red depending upon
the 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
nor or have a bent-string guitarist’s
bluesy feel
Juan Smith & Pocahontas knew this moon
in Jamestown (as I did in N. J.
on the Hudson glimmering away). . .
but this moon is 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 & Pocahontas are the stuff of myth
like mind-moon plums and immigrants
who come bearing other gifts
…………………….
Jim Culleny; May 2009
……………………….
……………………..
Blink 