"Poems by Anthea Jay Kamalnath"

Poems by Anthea Jay Kamalnath

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E 23rd St.

tonight,
the lights go
off on
e twenty three.
the wind sweeps
dead leaves
up-
town.
the sun sinks
his skin
lower,
closer for
touching.
but
the lights
have already
gone
off on
e twenty three.
two buds,
closed,
slapped down
over a coffee table,
tendered
dimly,
strangle in,
falling away from
sight.
the two
are
shut still,
abiding to
that library
with its lights
off on
e twenty three.
fed
in the dark,
left to reflect
on the outside
looking in,
these sprouts
once had beans
for seeds.
as their skin
unfolds,
peeling
to no audience,
parading

in a pit,
through
gooseberry-eyes
each stem
reflects
on its
weeds.
two eyes,
buttons
used for
clasping
in
with four
holes
to penetrate,
flickered
once,
blinked twice,
flashing
off on
e twenty three.
the twins
are now
blanketed,
locked up
with eyelashes,
guarding,
daring
to spike,
while
cones and rods
fight
the Armageddon
within.
but
the lights
have gone
off on
e twenty three.
blinded
by darkness,
eyes,
which have
charcoaled
the remaining
pulp,
remind the
peels:
there is
nothing
sacred
here.
you,
punished,
clogged in
the twilight
following
forgotten stars,
can see
the dawn
before those
up-down-mid-
town.
the lights
were never
on off
e twenty three.

The Night-Artist's Paradelle

I could paint the moon tonight.
I could paint the moon tonight.
Kiss me slow and tenderly.
Kiss me slow and tenderly.
The slow moon could kiss me.
And, tenderly, I paint tonight.

Juice, filling, flowing from the sun,
Juice, filling, flowing from the sun,
Comes, bursting out love, in revelry
Comes, bursting out love, in revelry.
Out, in flowing love juice,
Comes the bursting sun, filling, from revelry.

Wanton needs stem from ancient days.
Wanton needs stem from ancient days.
Gratifying the horrid feat, now ebb on with the tide.
Gratifying the horrid feat, now ebb on with the tide.
The ancient ebb from needs.
Now, horrid days, gratifying with the wanton tide, stem on feat.

Flowing wanton, filling the ancient stem, juice comes.
Now, revelry days, the gratifying sun, and I tide.
Needs, tenderly bursting out from the feat with in, kiss.
Tonight, the moon could paint horrid me.
Slow. Love, ebb on.

Poems © 2001 Anthea Jay Kamalnath, all rights reserved
appear here by permission

Author Notes

"E 23rd St "
This poem centers on the themes of self-hatred often caused by the outside world. Toni Morrison's novel, The Bluest Eye, was an inspiration for this poem with its themes of self-hatred, misplaced understanding of ugliness and beauty (which this poem also has as a theme) and inner racial turmoil, along with a photograph I had taken of my brother in Monterey. This was one of the few photo-poems I have done and hope to continue to do. Unfortunately I am unable to turn in the photo along with the poem.
"The Night-Artist's Paradella "
This poem was rather spur-of-the-moment and took approximately forty minutes (first paradelle that I have ever written.) I wish I had time to read more Nabokov. He's beautiful. Or if not him, his writing. You pick.

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