The Nyro Poems - Majestic
for His Winking Majesty
1
'Tornado spawn, ' he said,
gesturing to ourselves and
laughing, 'chapter and verse,
'The storm darkens us around.'
We took cover from God under a
broad-leaf, low-lying rhododendron,
hunched over a hand-rolled cigarette
thumbs could touch but not each
other. Shivering every toke all
reaches curtailed beneath chaste hail.
In mud gulch, percussive rain on
sheltering leaves, we sang Nyro
(I could hit the high notes then) ,
as frightened of each other as we
were of the gale - the sermons
remained between us unspoken
but for thunder.
'Stoned Soul Picnic', 'Timer',
calmed or tired our terror
now Lear-caged in storm sheer,
odors of tobacco, sweat, of loam,
and lust hair-wet, heady.
Biblical fear - nostrils flared,
smells pungent, sweet -
punished flesh leaned into ground.
Our roots were ungrieved,
and are ungrieved still.
Ah, Laura of the soulful trills...
the years have spilled out since
Tennessee mountain torments
reigned where he was once and
only a Monday king after all,
a god of storms, chased downhill
to shaken limbs, prophetic stumps
triumphantly singing to leaves.
Now where are you?
What of your harlequin shoes,
[...] Read more
poem by Warren Falcon
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