Coronary Reflexions  21 to 30

 

 

David L. Young



 

Table of Contents

 

21.   Common Pain

22.   Sunflowers

23.   Closing Windows

24.   Thanksgiving

25.   Through the City

26.   Free Will Suction

27.   The Messenger

28.   Mutation

29.   When I Am No More Bound

30.   Lovers by Candlelight


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Common Pain  

 

October 1988 / Darien, CT  

Jesus wept.

i weep, too ‑‑

not to say

we're much the same;

it's just that dreams

have poured from eyes

more fair than mine:

kings and queens,

saints and gaudy stars ‑‑

each has known the tang of salt

on the tip of a tongue

too torn to speak;

in this world,

where love too soon turns cruel,

it's good to know,

that God, too, cries.

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Sunflowers  

 

February 1989 / New York City  

Looming tall at the garden's eastern edge

They beam with pride, each one bright as the first;

Happy golden faces shining like girl scouts

Saluting the flag for the morning pledge

Greet a sunshower that quenches their thirst

And praise the breaking dawn with silent shouts:

Spiral arms open, welcoming the light,

Little galaxies reaching for the skies

Kiss the blood‑red moon and scorn the black night,

Sweet giggling flirts winking rows of eyes;

Laugh not too loud, proud ladies of August,

Autumn comes courting while you flaunt your prime,

He'll rob swollen wombs and turn hearts to dust

Reaping Summer's toil and raping the time,

Leaving slender frames cracking in the wind

And waiting for Spring to raise them again.  

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Closing Windows

February 1989 / New York City

june‑bug‑blue‑moon‑pale‑light drift

through holes in walls carry

plastered street wanderers'

din floating in with passing cars'

headlight reflections creeping

across walls like moving movies;

twisting pillow‑soaking‑sweat anxiety

can't wait for west to move east

under hydrogen burning;

sleepy fingers wobbling down hallways

losing shadows clutch and pull,

slamming out dawn's swelling infusion  

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Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Day, 1986 / Verona, PA

earth is gray today,

dark skies weep rain;

somewhere above

golden shafts light the world;

in this morning's silence

i see you:

standing under a tree,

a duck in your arms...

you gaze out from my mirror

across the room with a smile

while i lie here

remembering days of searching,

desperate treasure hunts;

when i got on my knees,

closed my eyes,

and looked Up,

then i found you;

now all i can do

is thank God.  

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Through the City

June 1980 / January 1989

Philadelphia / New York 

stomping on butts

and plastic wrappers

old men with gray or bald heads

hold out bold wrinkled hands

and gurgle lurid garble,

sour faces sweaty and desperate,

stationary at the train station;

cops gather on horseback

chasing vagrants

while down the street

junkies dressed in robes of rags

rob a candy store,

to feed eccentric habits;

toying with death

and trembling,

crack! goes another one ...

cesspool rivers stink,

where barnacled barges

and Russian ships

bring imports to port;

fetid oozing slime,

oil on the docks,

host a couple of frustrated pigeons

like a leghold trap,

so they settle down for the night,

and i head home:


across delaware ave,

through potholes,

across cobblestones and asphalt,

through the city

past sleeping birds,

addicts in silent‑sirened ambulances,

horseback cops, sweaty beggars,

and plastic wrappers;

boarding the west trenton local,

i peer through dusty windows

at shirtless kids

playing on the tracks  

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Free Will Suction

January 1989 / Wilton, CT

scorched by her searing epithet,

he dove into himself,

dejected,

branded;

those toxic lines delved into his soul;

mortified ‑‑ his own morals could be at fault:

Destiny? destiny step by step...

have you no free will?

no conscience, you sot?

no, amenable murderer,

your progeny lies

at the bottom of bags

so torn as to hide from form ...

"look, man, get off my back!

it's my body and i'll do with it

what i want ‑‑ OKAY???"

just like you,

black widow,

sick with selfishness:

suck on that.  

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The Messenger

February 1989 / New York City

i've borrowed this pen

to jot a line or two;

every now and then

i feel a need to:

with nothing too profound to say

(never is, really, you know),

just another bright sunrise today

atop a new fallen snow;

the people aboard with me

each caught in some routine

have long failed to see

the brilliant suburban scenes,

though once in a while,

like today, matter of fact,

someone brings along a child:

she can't keep her eyes off the track,

wide brown orbs aglow with awe,

restless, darting everywhere ‑‑

"wow! Dad did you see what i saw?"

"shhh! people are starting to stare"

painted nails tighten 'round the Times

crunching as they crease the edges,

revolving necks creak, smoothing out lines;

brows knit tufts like hedges,

bifocals and coffee‑glazed eyes bear down

squashing the wonder of innocence

under a collective indignant frown,

demanding a flogging or penance;


but they've misidentified their foe:

dad thinks the whole thing's a game,

smiling, he shrugs off their woe

and lets her continue without shame

"what's all that for dad?"

"that's just junk‑‑has to do with the train"

"oh, that's too bad"

dad pats her head, warding off more disdain...

we pull into the station, and i return the pen,

dad wakes up his sleeping prize,

the accusers turn and glare again

at the angel who's touched their lives  

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Mutation

October 1982 / Verona, PA

dark clouds shroud

countless bright memories

as i sit perilously alone

in this familiar foreign room ...

last night's prayer talk

peeps through curtains,

this morning's recollection

veiled by bleary‑eyed hangover's ache

 

in the street

smiling necking couples

transport me to younger days

when electric smiles and eyes

returned each to each,

selflessly serving that master

we called love;

day after day

the dull drudgery of metered toil

takes its toll,

slavery regards its owner:

protector, patron, savior –

save her, softly, secretly,

single‑handedly, so selfish,

now criticized "too nice" –


my head's on the ceiling.

tables turn,

like heads when she walks by ...

slighted and ignored?

awkward and lonely?

you bet.

better to gaze back,

back when we were

unaware of each other …

but, love to you,

beautiful,

and thank you  

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When I am no More Bound

New York City / January 1989

When I am no more bound by space and time,

Transcended to less worldly, loftier climes,

Dispatch my body to the raging sea

To sink or float to some protective lee,

Or grind my groaning bones to mealy grain

And toss the dust to ride the restless wind;

Spread my mean estate among the poor;

Leave off the stone that boasts of futile fame;

Waste no sentiment to mourn my end;

The grave I'll greet with warmth, as a true friend,

And hasten through eternity's bright door.

 

Death, where is thy sting? Put off your pride!

You strike to panic hearts aghast with dread

Of sheol agape with arms stretched open wide

To embrace the torn and sorrowed new‑born dead

Who meet gehenna's curse, the flames of hell;

Burn satan! Burn sulphurous fuming wrath,

Consume your blackened victims age to age,

But I in greener pastures soon shall dwell:

To Abram's gentle breast directs my path;

At heaven's gate awaits a sweet repast

Prepared for those who trust the Ancient Sage.  

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Lovers by Candlelight

March 1989 / Wilton, CT

the pitch scatters

at the sound and smell of sulphur

permeating nostrils. we aren't yet used

to light but as the wick ignites,

flickering, strobing, phantoms dancing

on walls, reaching, reaching me, reaching you

grabbing hold, hand to hand, eye to eye,

we adjust. darkness banished, the circle

of vision shifts from me to me and you, bending,

blending silently across valleys of uncertainty,

whispering, transition, split‑second

perception, revelation, catharsis

then it's out. blackness is back

amid waxy fumes, only a point of glow sizzling

between, fading then gone.

Table of Contents


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