“Let me repeat what history teaches. History teaches.” – Gertrude Stein
To write a poem of love you first ascribe:
Tyrant, lover, white teeth oxide kisses
Dissolves hard rock, the putty sky,
slants rain, the animus of kings – of seas –
Draw a pail of volition from the well:
Ties up the flame, rebuilds glaciers – yet – but demands of light,
“Yield and bend to my will!
Without my word! No one shall live through me!”
The third, imply the source of all your doubts:
O Such pretense! Who worships such a god?
Can I see true with you in my graey eyes?
Newborns may thrive, after, when cord is cut – has cut.
At last – and then – the spill: Who serves whom, dear?
Your nature is to rule – to rue; and mine, oppose.
About the Author
Robert K. Omura calls Calgary, Alberta, Canada home where he lives with his common law wife and three too many cats. He has resigned himself to finding cat fur in everything he eats. His fiction and poetry appears or is forthcoming in journals in the U.S., Canada and abroad including the New York Quarterly, 34thParallel, Chaffin Journal, CLR, Freshwater, barnstorm, and Blues Skies Poetry. He has been nominated for the Pushcarts.