Thanksgiving
byCarmine Giordano
That we are here
unraveled from the stars
the universe aware
shaped to name the nightingale
to breathe the rose
to sigh at sunrise
to wrench love
from the force of molecule and matter
to make man from our own dust -
this is for universal praise
for sounding trumpet
for strings pipes resounding cymbals
this for all of us -
thanks giving
unraveled from the stars
the universe aware
shaped to name the nightingale
to breathe the rose
to sigh at sunrise
to wrench love
from the force of molecule and matter
to make man from our own dust -
this is for universal praise
for sounding trumpet
for strings pipes resounding cymbals
this for all of us -
thanks giving
* * *
Silent Night, Holy Night
by Carmine Giordano
There’s great seduction
in the old Christmas carol
all is bright all is calm -
seems the almighty
whose breath had separated
the day from the night
and the waters above
the firmament from
the waters beneath
with the force
of a gazillion hydrogen bombs
has now rolled himself up
into baby-form
round yon virgin mother and child
puking all over himself
in a straw-filled food trough
in a gamy mideast stable
under a blazing star
fixed just above the rafters
But tell me friend if I’m wrong -
isn’t there just enough
cold on earth
and ache in the heart
to make you almost want to go
into that animal-keep
to the cow’s heat
and the mule’s steam
put down the burden of your skin
rest the lumber of your bones
halve your body to its knees
be lovely dumb with the beasts -
sleep in heavenly peace
* * *
From the Milky Way
by Carmen Giordano
To go happy
into the
new year
human kind
must look
to the stars
from which
we came
billions
of eons ago
in auld
lang syne -
we are
the dust
that
risen on
its feet
most
amazing
speaks -
beyond all
that is
trouble
trivial
vile
and small
be glad
Praise
that* * *
A Taste of Honey
The poison is sweet for the sugar ants
crawling from under the bathroom mirror ledge.
They’ve come out and formed a circle
around the syrupy dollop and ring it
like delicate filigree bordering a jewel.
They’re so very pleased with themselves
to have found this mound of manna
to feed their queen who’s somewhere
busy laying eggs in some seam of the wall
and having drunk themselves to a tizzy
they skim up the glass’s edge on needle legs
bearing their baneful bales of fructose
dumb and unaware in blind design
to feed their royal highness to her death
and rid us of their nuisances
among the brushes and jars of cream
we use to tinge the hair and smooth the brow
the honeyed artifice to numb us
to the scheme of things
that’s brought us bounding from the pink of spring
across the green plains and up the flowered hill
here to the summit where the fresh winds blow
longing and lingering -
watching the late leaves whirl
down the sure path we afterwards must