Quotes about patton, page 23
To the Very Last
To the very last
Was a traveler
A dwarf within
That rises to follow
Of its nature ability
Toward a giant that
Kindle soft desires
That had no good limit
Rise on age
He could save
The turning toward you
With a ceaseless pain
In its lengthening chain
Of hope that meet
The flesh of our meat.
I saw her in the round
There was a sundial sound.
Give signal sweet band
Of hands around her mound
She was the subtle
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poem by David E. Patton
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In St. Louis the boys
In St. Louis the boys
Gather at night to pause
Beneath a cloud
To count the industry
Of circumcision
Driven by the memories
Of needles of the moment
Their bodies clothed in
Rough beauty that sleeps
In the breast of comrades
Who ache for Walt Whitman
Who ache between the river
And the sexual Satyr
Among the billboards
That howls to be heard
Like the taste of the
Nude Mississippi
That groan at the
Shore of St. Louis.
The boys, yes the boys
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poem by David E. Patton
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Follow the water
Follow the water
That follows the divine offering
Follow the womb that follows
The birth of a beautiful thing seen
Follow the dead body placed
Behind the place of purification
Follow the beatified soul
That will freely guide you
Follow the avengers of
Dead black sons gone soon
Follow the existence
Of your body and soul
The double make of you
Follow, follow, and follow
Where the poets go
Alone the lease traveled road
Follow the midnight cat hunting the darkness
It knows not where it goes put is up for the going
There is an adventure there
Follow the children concern with fighting
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poem by David E. Patton
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Lent, Ramadan
Lent, Ramadan
Hebrew, Moslem
Paganism, a concept misunderstood
Druid, Voodoo God male/female
Mama Lola, the Pharaoh, the king
The president, the prime minister
What does all this means?
God Baba Loa I sing his name
Juju, Allah, Mohamed
Jesus, Buddha
Remises II., Martin Luther King
Frederick Douglas, Sojourner Truth
Moshe as black man
The 42 commandments
Garvey faces Mount Kenya.
Alkebu-lan, Gikuyu, Monomtpa
Memphite Drama black stone black history
The Koran, the Bible, the Torah
The Book of the Dead
The word jazz in St. Louis
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poem by David E. Patton
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Ode to the Sadness of my Eyes
My eyes do not know
How old they are
My heart still keep time
Like the old Seth Thomas
Or a dripping faucet
My eyes precede my mind
When it is looking for a rhyme
Sad eyes such as mine
Can see an angel out of the corner
Where tears collect
My eyes are as fine as scramble umbrellas
That once was lonely
Because the rain
Ran away with the wind
These sad eyes of mine can not keep their history
They are always only about the now
What I see not what I have seen
Even in sleep they have been known to weep
What the mind keep as it midnight secrets
My sad eyes can be dug out with a copper spoon
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Water is threatening to rejoice
Water is threatening to rejoice
At the sight of man’s complicteres laughter.
Water untouchable is stabled in the shoulder
Is watching the sub nose rain that fall in the falling light.
Water is the rudimentary beautiful
Musicality of white.
But water in its dead beauty torn a spilling
Is a common prowler drunk by the landscape.
Man is the beast that coward against the rain,
He revolt hard against its tone.
Water is the sudden strength of its circulating power
Water rusted in the veins surgically cut the
Putrefying strength of the leap of an eyeball.
The wreckage of water is nostalgia for the
Way it cut kindly in kindly out, nostalgia
With its stigmata knotted around the antipode
With the speed of a rain dropp primal water
The color of cinnamon moving with the speed
Of cloves cigarettes smoke committing the
Remembrances of suicide where the entrails of
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poem by David E. Patton
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Are the Children Alright
In the root zone
The children are camouflaged
In the zone of the sun’s light
The children are building industries
In the zone of bones
The children are mining their flesh
So full of sorrow for the fathers
Whose ignorance has spent
The strength of their muscles
On the wages paid beneath
The shadow of commerce
In the war zone
The children are catching bomb
With their skin and they dream
Of how with ease is dying done
In the zone of the moment
The children are counting
The thin dogs running wild
In the wilderness on the out skirt of town
In the comfort zone
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poem by David E. Patton
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I Walk A Nameless River
I walk a nameless river
One which collects water from the houses,
The streets and such,
A river of rain that carry small sticks,
Cigarettes butts and, bits of paper
A shadow river that moves pap like rocks
A river trapped in the street cars’ tracks
A river rushing past ants and praying mantises
Against butterflies and worms that comes up and leave
Body tracks in the mud.
A river fed by puddles and cracks; indents in the sidewalks
By downward slanted driveways and situated front yards
By small streams on window glass and streams down sycamore trucks,
Maple, oak and such.
A cleaning river of gutterized rain,
A leaf drooping rain of green things,
River of no name
Too thin to carry twigs
Easily distracted by my foot
Easily stagnated into a nameless pond
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poem by David E. Patton
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They cross the fence
They cross the fence
To get to the land of plenty
And a white kind of happiness
But their skin is brown
And some darker still
The African blood they carry
They travel the deserted desert
Past Brittle bush and familial cactus
To reach the city where the streets
Are paved with a kinder misery
Where they can fide in the community of their own
Who can fault them, who in his heart is so harden
Other then the racist among us
They are quick to birth babies
Who will be called American
And heir to the good life
The crows come north of the border
They pass the check point gates
They only respect crow’s laws and rules
Learned in nature’s school
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poem by David E. Patton
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It was me who twisted
It was me who twisted
The clouds of its rain
And told the grass
How to grow and birds
How to sing in a man made
World of human insanity.
Yes I am the one who
Built a fire of the sun
And stole the light
Of all the moon
Still it glow at night.
I was the one who
Killed the God of the sun.
I killed many things
To prove myself right
When the angels
Came to take my life
Against the certainty
Of tomorrow.
When I was born
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poem by David E. Patton
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