Author: randyribay

an incomplete divinity

poetry

the divine emanates
from undeveloped
parts of this planet
this is that tranquility
sensed while perched
atop a mountain
forest at its feet
lakes living on
the horizon

an incomplete divinity
though
without you

like that time i
went to russia
only to see st. basil’s in scaffolding

this is why two days early
mosquito-ravaged
muddied and
missing you
i returned to civilization.

a poem about a better poem on the same subject

poetry

in the eleventh grade my spanish
teacher made us read a poem by
pablo neruda about his dead
dog and i could not have cared
less but now i find myself contemplating my
furry companion’s inevitable
end sure that when that day
arrives i’ll seek solace in mr. neruda’s
perfect verse:

Some day I’ll join him right there,
but now he’s gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I’ll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

and i’ll probably stay home for days.

a traveler’s treatise

poetry

i’ve seen a tiger in denver
caged and discontent–
why in God’s name must i see
one in every city in which i set foot?
will a parade of morose tigers
provide enlightenment?

all our cities
seek to be the same
practicing emulation to perfection

but when we travel
let us cannonball into
the unfamiliar

avoid highways
fill the tires of an old bike
lace up sturdy walking shoes
eat at a restaurant owned by the cook
swim in the nearest river
revel in the flora
seek out the fauna
bathe in the accents of locals
make them your friends
sleep under their roofs

then return
and–without photos–
tell me of your travels

the scene

poetry

the children arrived first
on the scene, and seeing them
in impressive numbers sprinting across
the square we thought
they were playing a game
until we heard someone say, a grin playing
across her lips,

“kavon’s been shot!”

digust crushed me thinking
perhaps she savored this moment, anticipating
times she’d get to retell it.
others, smiling similarly, emerged in uneven sudden bursts
from their houses, like puss from popped pimples,
and rushed towards the anguished screams
of those i assume were his loved ones
(but i can’t be sure since i refused
to make a spectacle of sorrow)

but am i any fucking better?
my first thought:

this needs to be a poem.

teeth

poetry

an anger
and a defensiveness lurks
in these kids which keeps them
striking lashing clashing
leaving white
middle class teachers
asking,

why are they so violent?

why is everything such a big deal?

why can’t they just act like kids?

but these grand inquisitors
can’t/don’t want to see the answer is
pregnant
with disaster bearing a full
set of teeth
sharpened on
history
waiting for one
more hateful
word
to
pull
the
trigger.