The new Romeo and Juliet
should have been as different as night and day.
The question,
'Will love conquer all?'
is answered all the time
behind closed doors.
I have to admit
I have peeked
in dark places
In the bend of her elbow
I lip-traced
my soul was graced
over golden Colorado,
we issued in the day.
Words like Rabbi and homeland
and Nazi and slavery .....and sorry
were silenced by the weight
of the
colors
of the
rising sun.
The earth was
under us
and she
smiled upon us
When her mountains cradled us
like the arms of the mother 'round
.....twin-infants-at-once
her trees beckoned us to play in their branches
like children
when her cool thin air
made us drunk
like adolescents
dancing under "shhhhh" of aspen leaves.
You're peeking.
It's OK.
I'm speaking of a beautiful night and day.
She lifted my sweater
to kiss my white chest.
I bended my knees.
Held my cheek to her brown breast
tight.
The end of night
The sky blue
dragon's breath
lit fire in the clouds.
The earth was inviting,
you're still peeking.
Soon we were laying
in a nest of pine needles.
Soon we were flying
like eagles.
We left our political evils
behind us,
they were beneath us.
Love is so much higher
than your politicus
.....and it is politicus.
Wrap love in a blanket of
political dogma
and it is no bigger,
and it flies no higher,
and it touches no deeper,
and it sees no color,
of the rising sun,
of the ocean's blue,
of the red of blood,
of the earth
where oak fleshed trees grow from.
The light of a yellow sun is
whiter.
The night sky still blue is blacker
than anyone
of any color
of any religion.
In every order
the poet is a leader,
a lover,
a righter of wrongs,
a writer of right.
We have the right to be free
from the voices
of our people
echoing in our heads.
We all share some
never-forgets.
The rabbi gets to the top of his sermon and says
"Our people, who procreate outside of our faith, have killed
more Jews
than Hitler!"
Openness is no killer, but it
serves to make us freer
so my creator, my mother, my nature's telling me
someone's trying to take my love like a political
prisoner.
He made you a king.
He made you a queen.
He made me one of his chosen children
(lucky fucking us!).
If we could have only been
born blond haired, blue eyed, in the thirties, non-Jewish,
and German
we'd be Aryan.
We'd have a nation.
We'd have a million man march ......to Poland.
I'm no more chosen than you.
You're no more king than me.
We must not be
dupes to their mentality,
their fraternity,
their in and outgroup-psychology.
But it makes us feel strong,
don't it?
It makes us feel like we
belong,
don't it?
We say it doesn't
but it fills us with hate:
"These are our men"
"These are our women"
"This is our religion"
"This is our neighborhood"
This ownership of everything is
our undoing.
This is our gun
reflecting words that show how they might have already
won.
They are the people
who tell us what to believe
who tell us who to love .....and hate
Tell me, who's been deceived?
Who's got their best minds
working
to keep the people of the world from loving one
another.
We do...
To keep "things" as they've
"always been"
as they "should be."
We poets do...
as all of our politically motivated gods seem to have
decreed to keep the same people hated and hating and
fighting ourselves;
each other;
always, just seems to keep the same order
......in order.
My creator
My mother Earth will not let my love be a political
prisoner!
Copyright Eric sultan 11-97
It's the myth of finger-
prints.I've seen them all and they're all the same. (Paul Simon)
