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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535692" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Nyro Poems - Majestic</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">for His Winking Majesty</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tornado spawn, ' he said, <br>gesturing to ourselves and <br>laughing, 'chapter and verse, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The storm darkens us around.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We took cover from God under a<br>broad-leaf, low-lying rhododendron, <br>hunched over a hand-rolled cigarette <br>thumbs could touch but not each <br>other. Shivering every toke all <br>reaches curtailed beneath chaste hail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In mud gulch, percussive rain on<br>sheltering leaves, we sang Nyro<br>(I could hit the high notes then) , <br>as frightened of each other as we <br>were of the gale - the sermons<br>remained between us unspoken<br>but for thunder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Stoned Soul Picnic', 'Timer', <br>calmed or tired our terror <br>now Lear-caged in storm sheer, <br>odors of tobacco, sweat, of loam, <br>and lust hair-wet, heady.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Biblical fear - nostrils flared, <br>smells pungent, sweet - <br>punished flesh leaned into ground. <br>Our roots were ungrieved, <br>and are ungrieved still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, Laura of the soulful trills...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the years have spilled out since<br>Tennessee mountain torments<br>reigned where he was once and<br>only a Monday king after all, <br>a god of storms, chased downhill <br>to shaken limbs, prophetic stumps <br>triumphantly singing to leaves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now where are you? <br>What of your harlequin shoes, <br>those suicidal crocuses, ? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I remain stuck in King James, entangled <br>in lyrical tongues, Revelation's old virgin. <br>I stink still of sweat having long forsaken <br>Jesus, though I'm told I am not 'by Him forsaken'. <br>I've sworn off cigarettes, a penance long overdue, <br>hand-rolling old fears, instead, in onion skins brittle.<br>Remembering thumbs' refrains I am ill now, this <br>Nyro song here to calm me praying for another storm...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>backyard empty clothesline<br> <br>silk slip, <br>one pin down, <br>dips shyly in <br>brick shadows, <br>pornographic breezes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I sing to my knees now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">when did I marry Lonely? <br>can't recall but fell kid-hard</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Beyond Manhattan Bridge<br>sudden heat lightening<br>a good night with cool rain<br>old vinyl - Nyro</div><div style="margin:10px 0">needle scratches</div><div style="margin:10px 0">done with song</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>**Laura Nyro (October 18,1947 April 8,1997) was an American composer, lyricist, singer and pianist</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a><div class=q>
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1

'Tornado spawn, ' he said, 
gesturing to ourselves and 
laughing, 'chapter and verse, 

'The storm darkens us around.'

We took cover from God under a
broad-leaf, low-lying rhododendron, 
hunched over a hand-rolled cig..."></div>
</div>
</div>