erry Thompson - Five Poems

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DIVERS


A lazarus of the sea, the white moon rises,
	ticking in the hearts of its tribes --
	the ray gliding like an ancient jet,
	the eel in its cave, the slow whale.

We come for gravity's floating cradle
	while tides mark the depth of our misery --
	the nourished grave, that man who said
	the earth is flat, the ones who believed.

We come to find the wreck we never find,
	to make a circle in the circle of oceans,
	to steal treasure from silent ribs
	and swim away unharmed.

Instead we come to the end of breath.
	Rising faster than our bubbles we
	cramp and twist.  Always five	
	feet from the surface we drown.

ELVIS  IN  LONDON


The dark side of his soul has come
out in the late hot hours,
fevered flower blooming at night.

He wanders Soho in the rain.
Hey yank, got a smoke?  What you
want?  Black girl?  White girl?  Young?

Back at St. Margaret's Place his Tennessee
pals press tinfoil on the windows,
bolt all the doors.

When The King comes home alone and sad,
they aim to cook him up some good ole
American smack.

FISHERMEN ARE COMING HOME


Fishermen are coming home,
full harvest in their nets.
The great dark carpenters
who build the boats are hungry.

Soldiers touch the water's
quiet edge with their waiting.
Shop keepers and cloth
merchants sit patiently.

The man who walks on water
tells the fishermen to leave
their catch in burning sun,
beckons the crossmakers to come.

Unbelievers stare as the sea
changes to wine.  Like the
children in his arms, this man
knows the power of love.

IN GRAVITY'S THOUSAND ARMS


Slaves of the tide and its skyward house
we march in bones from one beginning.

Wars between the man and woman rage
like suns in the throat of some hot God.

Gardens fashioned with words in the world
tell the summertime of perfect Eve.

Bless the wheel driven from Paradise,
all the beasts making peace with Adam.

But gravity tugs at the blood
curving at the speed of light.

If the world has a ladder
it is the act of loving.

GARDENERS


those who never lifted earth
lift my son's body in its sleeping

whispered prayers can't hide
the open wound in his chest

but i have hidden seeds in the boy
so when he's planted in the ground

rebellion will push up
like some crazy crimson flower