Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #6                        Page 32
                                   
Table of
Contents



ONE LAST LOVE POEM

there is no rhyme or reason
to these thoughts that come to me
like fall leaves swept from trees
hit the ground like a Li Po poem
wait to make love
on the ripples of a red wine river

the passion a hurricane rips through me
like a lover trying to thread a needle
in the teeth of a hurricane

I seek refuge from the storm like
a pilgrim seeks refuge in the
dead cold of winter
enter your body like an ancient explorer

I ride you like a bronco bull
your eyes a blue moon shine up at me
the night sky undresses the stars
we explode like two sticks of dynamite
a sailor at sea chartering a new world
no desire to conquer
I a gardener you the fertile soil

we lock limbs plant seeds of passion
the stars make love to the galaxy
our heart beat as one
you an open flower
me a hummingbird feasting
on the nectar of life

  A.D. Winans __

POEM FOR THE IMMIGRANTS
ON THE CORNER OF CESAR CHAVES
IN SAN FRANCISCO

you see them standing on the corner
day in and day out
in boiling sun or bitter cold
waiting for a car to stop
a driver to offer them work
at below minimum pay
in the fields or sweat shops
no questions asked
no quarter given
men who risk drowning
to cross the border
they wear a cross to ward off evil
pick your food bus your tables
skin cracked from the sun
ignore the eyes that follow them
the long arm of the law
the cruel words from ignorant tongues
these men with skin dark as dirt
with a wife and children
with needs like you and me
never lose their dignity
never lose their faith
never lose the hope of becoming
part of the American dream


  A.D. Winans__
Portrait From The Past

I open your old railroad watch
given to you by your father
See grandfather in his suit and tie
See his/your life sweeping by
In the second hand

Haunting thoughts rattle around inside my head
Like a bag of marbles
The minute hand stuck at high noon
Memories haunting as a hangman’s noose
Swinging from a tree


  A.D. Winans__
_______________________________________

ON BEING A POET

Some poets write with speed
As if trying to stay one step
Ahead of death

Some write with the precision
Of a tailor wanting each line
To be a perfect fit

Some poets toy with poems
Use each word as a building block
Some write hoping for a literary reputation
Some with the hope of luring a lover to bed

Recently a poet editor invited me
To submit a poem
On the topic of fame

I’d ask him for money
But long ago gave away my soul for free
Being a poet
I’m already a millionaire

  A.D. Winans__
A SEA OF STARS

Strangers have taken over
my body, shameless homesteaders
who stake their claim
like old time California gold miners

The men are elderly with gray beards
and drive horse and buggy carriages
the women wear dresses that hug the floor
there are no children no dogs
just one black cat with a pointed tail

The town crier keeps me awake all night
a court jester roams at will through my dreams
a king dressed as a queen winks at me
an army of red ants crawl inside my head
A monster hides under my bed
howls to be fed

a midget woman courts my favors
offers herself in twenty-eight exotic flavors
the night collapses like
a home under the weight of a bulldozer

I’m summoned to appear before a military tribunal
my good conduct medal called into question

A rip-tide tears at my brain cells
my landlord cancels my lease
the judge gives me a stern look
declares it a mistrial

The bailiff writes down his cell number
tells me to give him a call
whispers he has a hot three-some
he thinks I might be interested in

The son of Frankenstein
shows me the way to the rooftop where
down below a faceless mob waits
with pitchforks and torches

A drummer boy from the civil war
works his way into my heart
Betsy Ross hands me a confederate flag
The night an insatiable nymph feasts on my flesh
leaves me a dead man laid out
beneath a sea of stars


  A.D. Winans__